by Glenda Diana
“I think not,” she replied in a frigid voice.
“Ahhh, don't be too hasty, my sweet. I can show you delights you never knew existed.” Thomas circled closer to her.
“None are as handsome as my husband.” With measured steps she put as much distance as she could between them.
“Are you blind, Milady?”
Her temper soared. Casting a glance at Blake, her heart ached as he ignored the rude stares and murmurs of his tenants. How stupid she was. Hadn't he suffered enough? He didn't need this kind of humiliation. A fierce and fiery hot need welled up inside her ... a need to protect.
“They say the Devil marked your husband as his own. You, my sweet thing, have married nothing but a beast-”
Thomas never knew what hit him.
At first, he thought the Baron had sneaked up and felled him. But as his eyes cleared all he saw was the woman standing over him, the point of her blade pressed to his throat.
The taunts still rang in Blake's ears, but the look of rage on Thorton's face kept him rooted where he stood. Never had he seen such a transformation. From woman, to warrior.
It looked as though Thorton had dashed forward, jumping just before she reached Thomas, spinning in mid-air, twisting and turning as she came down behind her opponent, then giving him one swift blow to the back of his head with the hilt of her sword.
Thorton squatted beside the fallen man. “If my husband is the devil's own, so am I. I'll give you one hour to remove yourself from Stonecrest.” In one smooth move, she stepped back, but kept her sword at the ready.
Thomas leveled himself up on his elbows; he could hear the snickering of the crowd. His eyes, hot with anger, looked at the woman who had just bested him, only to find her gold eyes glowing with hatred. He could not recall a woman ever looking at him so. The Lady would be heartily sorry for her deeds. He could live with knowledge that a woman had bested him, for one simple reason ... he would get even, and it would be a pleasure.
When Thomas started to speak, Thorton raised her sword. “Not one word from that foul mouth of yours.” She desperately wished she could have found another way to handle this situation, but this had been the only solution she had come up with. She watched as Thomas stomped off before turning her eyes to Blake. How could she have humiliated him in front of his people? She should have prepared herself for this moment.
She had tried to tell Blake last night what she had overheard the maid, Dora, saying to another maid. Thomas had been stealing from Stonecrest. Once a month, he would gather his bounty and head to London on the pretense of seeing his sickly mother, who did not exist.
Apparently, Thomas did not keep his sticky fingers strictly to Stonecrest. According to Dora, Thomas had many young maids from neighboring estates who foolishly gave him entrance to their master's homes. And along with the help from a local whore at the Inn, Thomas had quite a business going ... until now. Thorton had just closed him down.
Taking a deep breath for courage, she walked across the field to where Blake stood. Upon reaching him she found all her courage had deserted her. His black eyes seem to shimmer with some inner heat.
Obviously, she wasn't the only one to notice his expression, for those nearby quickly scurried away. With a deep breath and a lift of her chin, she directly met his gaze. “I'm sorry,” she whispered.
When one black brow raised in reply, she felt the sorrow well up inside her. Everything she had tried to accomplish within the past month she had achieved last night, now through her own doing, she had lost it all.
“Exactly what are you sorry for?” he asked. “Was it the splendid performance you gave my tenants? The show of idiotic bravery? Or the way you chased off one of my men?”
Thorton gave him a brief summary of Thomas’ thievery.
“I should have been told! Then I would have taken care of the matter in my own way. A way much more private and done with less flare.”
“Last night, you told me to take care of the matter.”
“Last night, you did not mention the exact problem. If I remember correctly, we had other things on our minds.”
Her cheeks blossomed with color. “I did try to tell you. Oh, bloody hell.” She stomped her foot. How could she have been so stupid? Before rational thoughts took over, she ran to the manor. She knew it was a sign of weakness, but it was either that or cry like a blubbering female.
Blake was speechless. She was magnificent, not only in her fighting skill, but in her defense of him. He turned to Lucas. The man had the nerve to smile. Blake placed his hand on his hips and glared. “It's past time we had a talk.”
“About?”
“My wife, of course.” Blake dropped his hands to his side. “And this temper of hers.”
Blake jumped at both Lucas’ sudden burst of laughter and the abrupt slap he received on his shoulder. Lucas saw the surprise look and laughed harder. “Are you sure you want to hear my story, Bradley? A long, gruesome tale. One that will make you wonder exactly what kind of torture Lynwood cursed you with.”
Blake considered changing his mind; he physically shuddered. “I hope there's enough brandy to get me through...”
Blake motioned an older man to join them. “Lucas, this is Gordon Wilson. Living this far out, I have resorted back to somewhat primitive days. My tenants need to know they are protected from wandering ne'er-dos, so that is why I formed a security patrol. Gordon is the head of it.” Blake turned to Gordon. “Send a couple of men to watch Thomas. He is to leave within the hour as my wife instructed. I want him watched continuously for the next few weeks. My wife made him look like an idiot. He might get it into his head to seek revenge.”
“I've already seen to it, Milord. Billy and Ceciel will follow him. He won't make a move without me knowing of it.”
“Nice work, Gordon. Like always, I knew I could count on you.” Blake patted the man's shoulder. “Keep me informed.”
“Right. I'll do some checking, see if what your wife heard was true. I'll begin by questioning the maids. It was a fine job your wife did this day.”
Blake smiled. “Tell me, Gordon, what did you think of Thorton's ability at handling the problem?”
“Most impressive.”
Blake watched the laughing Gordon walk away. “Impressive, indeed,” he muttered, as he and Lucas walked toward the house.
Although Lucas hated to admit it, he couldn't help but respect the Baron. The man certainly knew how to take care of his land and his people. Actually, he rather liked Blake ... of course that was after he discovered the façade Blake played out at the local tavern.
Thorton had only eleven months to reach the goal that had driven her for fifteen years. But no matter the outcome, Lucas would be there for her.
He was looking forward to his talk with Blake. This was going to be most entertaining. He could just imagine what Thorton would think if she knew about this talk. She'd most likely stomp her foot or threaten him. None of her antics would stop him, of course, but it would be amusing. Lucas knew he was the only one to blame for her willfulness. He had always spoiled her rotten.
* * * *
Several hours later, Blake sat in silence. His talk with Lucas had lasted longer than he had expected. His mind went over everything he had been told. Some parts he doubted, he just wasn't sure which parts. It all sounded farfetched.
One thing stood out. Thorton had lived her life in relative seclusion, just like he. He never would have imagined. She seemed too outrageous, too outgoing. Lucas said the Duke of Lynwood had seldom visited his daughter. After the death of his wife, Eliza, Lynwood never returned home. Lucas had been Thorton's guardian from the time of her birth.
Lucas had said that Thorton had been raised in a small rustic castle near the Scotland border, at a place called Rosewood. They had a steady stream of visitors. Lucas told in great detail of the traveling performers that would spend their winter there. Payment for such hospitality was to teach the Mistress of Rosewood acrobatic skills, and the pure joy of wa
tching the young girl turn into a lovely vivacious woman.
In all her twenty years, she had only left home twice. Once was the signing of the betrothal and the second was when she came to Stonecrest. Blake remembered the look of irritation Lucas had worn as he mentioned the last. Apparently, Lucas was upset Thorton had to journey to Stonecrest in search of her reluctant groom, because Blake wouldn't come for her.
For all the seclusion she had lived, Thorton knew the ins and outs of the social whirl in London. Most of the ton knew of her, yet none of them had ever laid eyes on her. When Blake pointedly asked about Duke Robert Lynwood, Lucas had neatly changed the subject, leaving the impression that he did not have much use for the man.
Blake came to his feet. What he needed now was to talk to Thorton. He had not seen her since she ran from the field. The look she had given him had haunted him through the long chat with Lucas.
Thinking she might have retired to her chamber, Blake took the stairs three at a time. When he did not find her there, he started down the hallway, throwing open door after door in his search.
Suddenly he stopped and smiled. Knowing her, she was probably with his father, amusing him with another one of her stories about the Black Knight. To listen to her, one would think she actually knew what she was talking about. He had heard some of her others stories were about highwaymen, vagabonds, and warriors. She seemed too full of information ... and imagination.
“Where's that wife of yours?” Roger growled at the sight of his son.
“I thought she might be here with you.” Scratching his chin, Blake wondered where she was.
“She was supposed to sit with me this afternoon.”
“Is this the same woman you cursed? The same one who, for the past fifteen years, you made sure I would hate?”
Roger had the good grace to blush. “She's not what I had expected. She has a good heart, she does. Not at all like her sire.”
Blake could not argue with him on that point. “You always were vague on precisely what brought about the contract. Duke Lynwood must have had a reason to demand the betrothal. He also had to have the leverage.”
Roger made a great show of straightening his coverlet and fluffing his pillows. “'Twas a long time ago. Guess we didn't do too badly with the bargain. Thorton's a sweet girl.”
A thousand words came to Blake's mind, words that had been bred into him, but he pushed them away. Now was not the time for a lengthy discussion over past deeds. He needed to find his absent wife.
“I admit, it could have been worse. At times I find Thorton can be a great source of entertainment. We can discuss the contract later,” Blake said before closing the door.
Damn, what else could happen? Blake did not want to pursue the different avenues that question could take. One thing was certain, since Thorton's arrival things had not been dull. He was just passing the dining hall when he noticed a dejected looking Cook sitting at the table.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She jumped to her feet and immediately started wringing her hands. A broad smile came to his face. Only one person could have that affect on another. Obviously, Cook had seen his wife.
“Where is she?” he asked.
“In the kitchen. Milord, it weren't my idea. I tried to get the mistress to change her mind, I did. She sent me from the room, said I was interfering with her work.”
“Do not worry. I'll get your kitchen back.”
Blake silently entered the kitchen and stood watching Thorton. She had flour all over the front of her apron, on her face, even some on the seat of her pants. Her hair was twisted up off her neck, red strands falling around her face. She actually looked quite adorable in her disheveled state.
He heard her muttering about never doing the right thing. He assumed he must be the ungrateful cur she kept referring to. She threw the clump of dough on the worktable and pounded it unmercifully.
Blake laughed. “Have some pity. What did that poor mound of flour do to put you in such a fine temper?”
Thorton stiffened, but did not turn. “I'm working.”
“One would think you did not get enough exercise in the field.” Blake walked toward her. His steps faltered when she promptly burst into tears.
She ran from the room. Blake followed her up to her chamber. He had not meant for his teasing to upset her. Until now she had shown a good sense of humor. Even some of his cruelest barbs had not brought tears to her eyes. He wondered if all women were as confusing and unsettling as his wife. Somehow he doubted it.
Thorton tore off the apron and wiped at the tears on her face. Blake wasn't sure what to do, so he stepped up behind her and gently wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against his chest.
“Tell me what makes you cry,” he beseeched, keeping his voice soft and hoping to avoid another outburst of tears.
“I'm sorry,” she wailed, turning in his arms and pressing her face to his chest. “I didn't mean to humiliate you. I tried to tell you last night, but you told me to take care of it. In doing so, I have embarrassed you in front of your people.” Her body trembled.
Blake smiled. So that was it. She thought he had been embarrassed by her defense of him. Actually, he wasn't sure how he felt about it. After all, she was his enemy. Last night had not changed that. But Blake had to be honest, at least with himself. Never had a woman said the things she had. Thorton had shouted loud enough for London to hear. And how could he be humiliated, when she declared him beautiful to all?
In one swift move, he scooped her up and carried her to her bed. Lying down, he pulled her to his side and held her close. “I am neither embarrassed nor humiliated. In fact...” Blake took a deep breath. “I'm very honored.”
“Truly?” she whispered, wiping her eyes.
“Truly,” he stated. Lord, how had he gotten into this mess? He hated this tender feeling overtaking him. He reminded himself of what and who he was. He was the Beast: mean, heartless, cruel. He never understood the reason he had acquired those particular titles, other than his scared face and his need to be left alone. No matter, he had used them to his benefit.
She raised watery gold eyes to him. “Next time, you handle the problems. I fear, I don't have the nature for such tasks.”
Blake smiled. “You have too fiery a temper. Although, my tenants are saying the Beast has finally met his match. They feel most honored to work for such a ‘Devilish’ couple.”
Before he knew what she was about, she climbed on top of him and grabbed two handfuls of his hair. “I will not hear you or anyone else say that word again! You are no more a Beast than I am.”
Blake was stunned. “I was only jesting.”
Her cheeks blossomed with color. “Again I apologize. But that is a horrid way to tease. Perhaps, as punishment, I should keep you trapped beneath me until you cry for mercy. What think you of that, Baron?”
The fire kindled deep inside him, bursting into a blazing flame at the feel of her soft body. Her seductive threat sounded more like a promise of something far greater than Heaven. “I've already told you how much I admire and appreciate the workings of your mind.”
“You did mention something like that last night,” she whispered as she tugged up his shirt. “Later has just arrived, Baron. Now, it's my turn.”
A growl came from his lips. “How can a mere man turn down such an offer? Come, little Warrior, breathe your luscious fire on me.”
Slowly, they began undressing each other. Sampling each bit of skin that was revealed. Blake watched as Thorton's face turned a light shade of pink at the sight of his full, pulsating lance. Then her eyes widened as he grew beneath her innocent stare.
“Thorton.”
“Hush,” she murmured. “This is all quite new for me. Should I caress you, like this?”
“Yes, Thor. Squeeze me. Mmmm, just a bit tighter.”
Thorton did as he asked. Squeezing and releasing, over and over. She was truly fascinated by the way his head thrashed from side to side, and
the way his chest heaved and quivered. The knowledge that it was her giving him such pleasure filled her with unexpected warmth. For this moment, he was hers and hers alone.
“And would this please you, Blake?” She placed several kisses on the wet tip of his manhood. Then her tongue lavished his hard length.
At that moment, if asked his name, Blake would not have been able to say. He forgot everything, even the fact that breathing was a necessity. He nearly came off the bed when her hot, wet mouth sucked him deeply. Once, twice, three times.
Thorton gasped, when he tossed her onto her back. A moan quickly followed when he slammed forward, filling her. Her body shivered at the sudden peak upon which she found herself. Her legs gripped his pounding hips, holding on as she met his raging passion with her own.
Blake rolled over yet again. “Now, ride me,” he panted.
It took only seconds to catch her rhythm. Her head fell back and she closed her eyes, relishing every delicious ripple that coursed through her body. She felt the change in Blake's movements and lowered her head. Her breath caught deep inside her chest. He was watching her with his intense, burning eyes. Leaning forward, she softly nipped at one of his pouting nipples. For that, she found herself on her back again.
“Yes, oh yes,” she breathed as her world shattered.
Chapter Eight
It was the first time in many months since Roger had sat at the dining table with his son. Roger watched Blake closely. It seemed as though his son was slightly agitated. When Blake slammed down things he touched, Roger was tempted to move objects out of his reach. Something, or someone, had gotten him in a fine temper. Roger's gaze slid to the woman who he was reasonably sure was at the base of his son's problem. He wasn't one who could easily admit when he was wrong, but Roger could not have wished for anything greater for his son than Thorton.
He lowered his head. He knew Blake thought him an idiot, that he never knew what was going on from one day to the next. His son was wrong. Roger knew the torment his son had suffered, knew how people reacted at the sight of Blake. The haughty ton never stopped to think that Blake had fought bravely on the battlefield while the dandies stayed home to primp like ladies.
