by Glenda Diana
“Stop that!” she ordered.
Blake managed to quiet his laughter somewhat. Thorton stood above with her arms crossed over her chest and her feet set wide apart. She was again his little warrior.
“Whom do you plan on running through with a sword? Me or Lance?”
She descended the stairs, not stopping until she was standing toe to toe with him. “Don't be ridiculous. I cannot run you through.”
“Why?” Blake rested his forehead against hers.
She forgot what he was even talking about as she stared into his eyes. He could make her forget to breathe; as if to prove the point, she finally drew in the needed air to feed her starving lungs. “You make me daft.”
“You've always been daft.” Blake smiled at her exasperated expression. “As I said earlier, go for your ride. We'll talk later ... tonight.”
There was a wealth of promise in those last words.
“A long, long talk. I look forward to it. Indeed, I wouldn't mind postponing my ride for our talk.”
He pulled her to him and gave her a hot, soul-melting ravishment. A distant cough brought him back to awareness. He raised his head he found his wife wearing a dreamy smile. Raising his head he found his wife wearing a dreamy smile. The woman made him lose all control. Gently, he set her away from him.
“Get out of here,” he whispered.
Blake watched as she walked away. He could not ever remember having a woman respond to him the way she did. She was like a purge to his soul, bleeding out all the pain, all the bad memories, cleansing away the acid taste of hatred.
“You're a lucky man, Blake. But it looks as though she's going to lead you on a merry chase,” Lance stated.
Blake gave a true smile, a smile Lance hadn't seen in years. “Thorton is a merry chase. I'm either damned fortunate or cursed.” Blake led the way back to the library and took his seat behind the desk.
“And which way do you see it?”
Blake shrugged. “Most likely, cursed.”
“You sound unsure.”
Blake started to reply, then changed his mind. “I'm sure you did not simply stop by to offer greetings.”
“That truce didn't last long.”
“I wasn't aware you wanted a truce?”
“Damn, Bradley, you're the most obstinate, cynical, arrogant man...”
“Sounds to me as if you're describing yourself,” Blake stated casually as he leaned back in his chair.
Lance laughed. “We do share similar traits, don't we? No wonder we always seemed to go head to head over the least little thing.”
Blake didn't see where they were anything alike. Not in temperament, personality, and definitely not in appearances.
“As I said, I just stopped by on my way to Ravenwood. I didn't mean to stir up old memories, or to cause problems. I thought we could put the past behind us.”
“The past has always been behind me,” Blake said quietly.
“Then why are we estranged? At one time, we were closer than most brothers. For years we were each other's shadows, knowing everything about the other. Now we hardly speak. I can't believe we let a woman come between us.”
“You let Penelope come between us. I could have cared less if you had her. Your brotherly act did not apply the night I could have used your so-called support. Where were you when the ton used me for that humorous and degrading show?”
Lance's eyes widened. “I was in Ravenwood. My favorite mare was having her foal, so I rushed home. You know how much bloody money I have in my stock. I couldn't afford to lose one of my best. I knew nothing of what had happened until I returned to Town.”
That took out some of Blake's hot air. He never thought about Lance not being in Town. He had always thought Lance had turned his back on him, like the rest.
“After the Penelope incident, I saw you several times when you ventured to London. But each time I tried to approach you, you gave me that evil look, so I kept my distance.”
Blake thought over the times their paths had crossed. Had it actually been the way Lance was describing it? Had he judged his friend without the proof of his desertion? Perhaps he had been to eager to blame Lance. But that didn't mean he was lowering his guard for the sake of old friendship. There was still too much unexplained.
“All right, truce. How long will you be at Ravenwood?”
“A few days.”
Blake thought seriously about disclosing the trouble he'd been having at Stonecrest, but quickly changed his mind. He still had no clue as to the identity of the troublemaker. Once he had known Lance well enough to share his thoughts, but now he did not know if he could trust the man.
“I'll leave. I've a long ride ahead,” Lance stated, breaking the silence.
Blake gave a silent sigh. He knew he would probably damn himself later for his rashness. “You're more then welcome to stay the night. It will give you a good rest before you travel.”
Lance took a seat. “You would offer me shelter, though you have misgivings?”
Blake shrugged. “Things will either work out or they won't. I cannot see you riding out now. Soon it will be dark and you will likely break your neck.”
“I appreciate your offer ... and accept.”
“Good,” Blake said, getting to his feet. “Let's get your mount settled. You still have the great beast Lucifer?”
Lance laughed. “He's my best horse. Fast as can be and well-trained. He sired that foal I mentioned, a son that will one day do him credit.”
“Did you not buy him at Havenview?”
“He was the last I bought there. Elliot Freedman was the best horse breeder. He had to be the richest man in England since he charged a damned fortune for his stock.”
“You should be ashamed of speaking ill of the dead,” Blake stated, smiling. “Besides, you must not have minded paying his price. You bought enough of your stock from him. And you can't blame a man for making a living at what he does best.”
“True. But he didn't have to be so bloody greedy.”
“Greedy, is it?” Blake grinned. “Wellsbrough, with your wealth you could have purchased all of Freedman's stock and it would not have dented your funds. Sounds to me as though you're the one being cheap.”
Lance had the good grace to blush. “That, too, is true. I just didn't like having him make his whole bloody fortune off me.”
“You could have gone elsewhere to buy steeds.”
“Bite your tongue, old man.” Lance laughed. “Since Freedman passed away I haven't been able to purchase a good horse.”
“You like being envied?”
“Don't we all?”
Blake cast him a side-glance. What did he have to be envied over? Let them walk in his shoes, see the reflection that stared back at him, feel what he had felt for years. “How is your Aunt Molly and Aunt Macy?”
Lance scowled. “I imagine they're just as senile as always.”
“Do they still ignore you as much as possible?”
“As if I had the plague.”
“Then they are not so senile.”
“Now I see just how high you hold me ... or how low.”
“If I remember correctly, every time you saw those two sweet dears it was you who acted as if they had the plague.”
“With good reason.”
Blake was silent for a few minutes. “It took a lot of ... courage to come here and ask me to forgive and forget what has come between us. Why can't you afford them the same thing? They have to be in their late seventies. Not many years left.”
“Knowing them, they'll live to be in their hundreds,” Lance mumbled, looking toward the window. A line of mounted men rode past, looking as if they were heading out to war. Other men in a wagon left in the opposite direction. “What's going on, Blake?”
“Nothing that would interest you.”
“You've been having problems.” It was not a question. “If you needed help, all you had to do was ask.”
“I need no help.”
“Damn
it, Bradley, things haven't gotten so bad between us that you could not have asked for assistance,” Lance said. “Have you forgotten my estate is just a day's ride from here? If you're having trouble, perhaps I am, too.”
“Unlikely. Whoever's behind it is after one thing ... me.”
“How bad has it gotten?”
Blake shook his head; he didn't want to discuss this.
“Don't be a stubborn ass,” Lance ground out. “If I needed help, you can be damned sure I'd be asking you.”
For a moment, Blake hesitated. “We found a kitchen maid two day's ago. Beaten. She's still unconscious.” Blake could not stop the fury that burned in him every time he thought of Dora.
“Good God! Anything else?”
“A couple of tenant houses burned, cattle stolen.”
“You don't know who's behind these attacks?”
“Would I be sitting here on my arse doing nothing if I knew who it was?” Blake's growl ended in laughter. “What a ridiculous question.”
Lance grinned, showing his twin dimples. “At least we can still agree on some things.”
“I don't recall anything being agreed upon.”
“We just agreed you are a stubborn ass.”
“Watch it. In the last few months I've been called an ass one too many times.”
Lance laughed. “Then I'm not the only one who's noticed.”
“I can still make you ride on home tonight.”
“First a deadly, yet charming, warning from your wife, and now you threaten me.”
“Do not take my wife's warning with ease. The woman is extraordinary with her defensive skills. You would not want London to hear that my wife bested you.”
Lance started to respond to Blake's jest when Gordon entered. The older man had his jaw clenched and, from the way he strode forward, it appeared he was in a rage. But a mixture of fear and sorrow gleamed in his eyes.
“Sir, I hate to bother you, but this is a matter of great import.”
The hairs on the back of Blake's neck prickled. His gut clenched. Somewhere, deep inside him, he heard a wail, an agonizing voice crying out. Instinct told him to turn away, that he did not want to hear what Gordon had to say. But he couldn't. Whether it was stubbornness or fear, or just plain lust to see this thing through to the end, he waited.
“Perhaps we should go somewhere to talk, Milord?” Gordon asked.
“Wellsbrough, if you will excuse us.”
“I'll go see to my horse,” Lance offered and started to leave just as Gordon handed Blake a note.
Blake unfolded the paper. For several minutes he stood silently, as if no life flowed through him. Then his body trembled violently before stiffening.
A soul-rendering cry, like a wounded beast, came from him. He swung his head from side to side, trying to clear away his thoughts.
Gordon turned frightened eyes at Lance in a silent plea for help. Lance started to speak, but Blake turned and stormed from the room. The door flew open with such force it broke loose from the top brace, leaving it hanging in destruction of defeat.
Chapter Nineteen
Thorton pulled her mare to a stop as she glanced over her shoulder and smiled. It wasn't so hard losing her bodyguard. In a way, she almost felt sorry for him. It didn't bother her that Blake made her take a guard every time she left. He was concerned, especially after what had happened to Dora. It made her feel good to know he cared. He would hate it if he knew just how well she could read his gestures, like when he held her at night and his large hand softly caressed her stomach.
Her gaze wandered over the small meadow. The moment she had first seen this spot with its lush grass, tall billowing trees, and little stream cutting through the land like a silver ribbon, she had known this would be a perfect place to spend quiet afternoons.
Dismounting, she pulled out the thick blanket she had rolled up behind her saddle and spread it on the downy grass. It seemed lately she rarely had time to herself and needed at least one afternoon of solitude to read and enjoy the sun.
Everything in the past few weeks had been going smoothly. Everyday she was getting closer and closer to her goal. Her hand smoothed over her flat stomach and she smiled again. So close, she thought.
Stretching out on the blanket, she let the sun's warmth penetrate her. Reaching into a bag she had brought, she pulled out a book and a plump red apple. Within minutes she lost herself in a fantasy world filled with Knights and their Ladies.
So was enthralled in the story, she didn't realize how late it was until it became difficult to read. A feeling of anxiety washed over her as she grabbed her things. Blake would certainly lock her in her room after this. Well, that wouldn't be too bad, she thought, not if he was locked in with her.
Using a nearby stump, she mounted up and headed toward home. As she neared the house, she noticed the odd silence. No shouts of laughter or boisterous talk came from the yard or the area where the workers bedded down at night in the empty field beside the stable.
A figure moved out from the dark stable, giving Thorton a moment of panic before she realized who it was. “Oh, ‘tis you,” she whispered. “You frightened me.”
“Evening, Milady,” Willie murmured, approaching her. Before she knew what to expect, his large hands encircled her waist and he lifted her down. “I was about to come looking for you. You don't usually stay out so long.”
Thorton stared at the man. Willie's dark blue eyes bore into hers, making her feel flushed. Turning from his watchful gaze, she unhooked her blanket and bag. “I ... lost track of time. Has my husband been looking for me?”
“Not that I know of, Milady.” His deep voice slowly drew out the words.
As he reached around her for the reins, his chest brushed against her shoulder, causing her to jump and slide away from him. “I'll see to your horse, Milady. Give her a good rubbing and make sure she's ... bedded down.”
“Thank you.” Keeping her eyes lowered, she made her way toward the house. She could feel his eyes on her back, burning into her. Desperately she tried to walk without showing what she felt over his suggestive words.
Upon entering the kitchen, she forgot about her encounter with Willie. There were several pots simmering on the stove and the smell of fresh-baked bread lingered in the air, but the dimly lit interior showed no signs of anyone. She wondered where Cook was.
She hurried through the door, wanting to get upstairs and change clothes before braving a meeting with Blake. She had no doubt he would set her ears on fire with his scolding. As she neared the stairs, she heard voices from the library. They seemed to be overly loud in the quiet house.
But why was the house so quiet? Where was Griggs? Roger? He should be here demanding it was time for another chess lesson. Thorton glanced down the hallway. Well, she thought with a sigh, she might as well put Blake's mind at ease and face a lecture.
“I'm sorry, Milord,” Gordon mumbled softly.
“I don't want your goddamn sympathy.”
Thorton steps faltered when she heard what sounded like a glass smashing.
“At least the chase is over,” Gordon added.
“And what a chase it was,” Blake growled. “I want an escort arranged, immediately.”
“Blake, think about this first,” Lance said. Thorton stopped just outside the doorway, her brows creased in confusion.
“I want that bitch followed back to that border Hellhole she came from. I want her off my land ... and I want her the hell away from me before sunrise,” came Blake's ravished voice.
Thorton had to grab the wall for support as her world suddenly tilted. The words repeated themselves in her mind. Her heart lurched painfully inside her chest. What had she done?
* * * *
“I know this is none of my business, Blake. But, can't you wait until your temper cools and then talk to her?” Lance asked.
“I knew not to trust her,” Blake roared, bracing his hands against the mantle, the paper clenched in his fist. He stared at the fire, want
ing to throw the note into flames that reminded him of her witch-gold eyes. It had all been lies. Done for revenge. Blake had played right into the web she had woven. But, she had caught him only in the web of darkness, of carnal desire, and of seduction. She had to win his heart, soul, and mind to claim total victory.
Blake squeezed his eyes shut. He wanted to lie, tell himself he had cheated her of that goal. But she had won. He hated the knowledge of his love for her. She had cost him more then money; she had taken what little life he had and destroyed it.
Goal. That one word was like acid on his tongue. He had been so curious as to what her goal had been, and now he knew.
* * * *
Thorton's fingers dug into the stone wall that supported her. Her head pounded from the blood rushing through her body and roaring in her ears. Slowly, she straightened and, with hesitant steps, entered the room. Blake faced the hearth, Gordon at his side. Lance, leaning against Blake's desk, came to his feet when he saw her. But her eyes were on Blake's back, willing him to turn toward her.
“I'll see to the escort right away, sir. Do you...” Gordon's words died.
Blake slowly turned.
Thorton's breath caught painfully in her chest while viewing the hate, the pain, burning bright in her husband's eyes. What had happened while she had been gone? What had caused this new hate to be conceived? When last she had seen him he had held her in his arms, had teased her with promises of later. Now, in just a few short hours he had found her guilty of a crime and was banishing her from Stonecrest ... from his life.
She stepped forward, her eyes staring unflinchingly at Blake. “I couldn't help but overhear some of your conversation,” she said, her voice shaking slightly. “What transgressions am I guilty of this time, Baron?”
Blake gritted his teeth as he thrust the note to Gordon. He didn't dare speak or move toward her, afraid if he did he would wrap his hands around her neck and squeeze the life from her. He never knew he could hurt in such a way. It was such a deep raw pain, the pain of betrayal. And the beauty standing in front of him was the cause. His enemy.
Thorton took the piece of paper from Gordon. As she read the words, she felt a penetrating cold enter her body, wrapping itself around her. Her hands shook. It was a brief note, but to her cause, a deadly one. Everything she had worked so hard to achieve had been destroyed within seconds.
