by Glenda Diana
“Cease the nonsense,” Roger snapped. “I only hit him to prove a point.”
“What point was that, Milord?”
“That he ain't so brilliant.”
“With that knot on his head, he won't likely forget.”
“When is Wellsbrough suppose to stop by?”
“Later this afternoon, sir. As you know, the viscount has become a regular fixture around here of late. I've never known the man to stay this long from London.”
“I haven't figured out if we should consider him a help or a hindrance.”
Griggs nodded. “My sentiments exactly, sir. Sometimes I wonder if the young man has moved in with us and you neglected to inform me.”
“I'll have Gordon do some snooping.” Roger stoked his chin. “I'm curious as to what he'll find.”
Griggs raised a bushy, salt-and-pepper brow. “You have suspicions?”
“Was it merely coincidence Wellsbrough happened to stop by the same day Blake received the note? It won't do any harm in having it checked out.”
“Quite right, sir.”
“Of course I'm right. I have my moments.”
“What now, sir?”
Roger sat in silence for a moment. “We have to decide how to get Thorton back.”
* * * *
Blake awoke to a horrible headache. Of late, it was not unusual for him to wake feeling heavy-headed, or even for him to grab the chamber pot before he got out of bed. But never had his head felt like this.
Gingerly, he felt the protruding knot on the back of his head. His memory was fuzzy, unclear. He thought he could recall talking to his father, but it could have been just another hallucination, another frequent part of his life these days.
On several occasions he thought he was back on the battlefield surrounded by the dead and dying. A few times he thought he'd heard Thorton calling to him for help, but when he went in search of her all he found was some vexing vixen who tried to lure him with her wiles.
Blake squeezed his eyes closed, trying to block out the throbbing pain. Then his eyelids suddenly popped open. By God, the old man had thumped him one. He started to push himself up, but fell back with a groan. What in the devil had he done to cause his sire to do such a thing?
Slowly his mind went over the events of the last few days. It all came back. The note, his anger, the hurt, images of Thorton. Blake covered his face with a thick pillow as a chilling groan erupted from him. The pain of her deceit, her betrayal, flooded through him. The pain in his head was all but forgotten, replaced by the excruciating ache in his chest.
Memories ... glimpses ... visions all came back to him, bringing the unbearable torment.
Thorton's words played through his mind: “You believe this?” she'd asked with a haunting look in her eyes. He could remember watching from the library window as she mounted her mare, her back ramrod straight, her chin raised, her gaze trained straight ahead ... then she and Lucas had ridden off. He also remembered the feeling of being deserted, left on the lone edge of the very pit he had once feared he would fall into.
With measured movements, Blake sat up. Holding his throbbing head, he took a deep breath and stood, swaying slightly. He waited until the room's spinning lessened to a quiver. Taking slow steps, he walked to the door leading to the adjoining room. It was the first time he'd entered the room since Thorton left. Everything looked the same, as if she would momentarily come through the door with her beauteous, traitorous smile.
In the wardrobe he found the familiar rainbow of dresses. He touched the white gown in which she had caused such a stir. That was the night she demanded that he do his duty by her. Removing the gown, he rubbed it against his face, breathing in the sweet scent of her clinging to the material. Clutching it tightly, he returned to his room.
His vision began to blur; he couldn't stop himself from stumbling the last few steps only to fall face down across his bed. He brought the dress up to his cheek, the same cheek Thorton had caressed time and again. God, he needed to be able to think clearly. He needed to free his mind from the endless fog. There was so much to do, so many things he had to get straight.
Then came a cold dread. Somewhere within his brandy-induced mind came the realization that, if he hurt now, what would he feel like once the fog dissipated? Would the pain be bearable? Would his anger return as a source of strength? Or would he revert to his decanter of brandy and the world of delusions?
Part of him wanted to stay in this realm of illusions and nightmares. Nightmares weren't nearly as frightening as the reality awaiting him. Then there was the part that wanted him to shake off the hazy spell of insensibility. To go chasing after Thorton, to bring her down to the level of Hell she had brought him to.
There were so many unanswered questions, he thought. His eyes drifted shut as the scent of her gown teased the faded fringes of his dreams.
* * * *
“Do you think I hit him too hard?”
“It would be my guess, not hard enough,” Griggs replied.
“What do you think he's doing with the gown?” Roger touched the silky material.
“Perhaps in his stupor he was going to wear it, sir. Does peculiarity run in your family?”
“No. But murdering servants does.”
“I was just jesting, Milord.”
“I wasn't.”
Blake opened his eyes to find Roger and Griggs leaning over him like gargoyles ready to pounce. “I would say you hit me just a might too hard.” He had heard them enter his room and had hoped that, if he pretended sleep, they would leave.
“You deserved it,” Roger muttered defensively.
“For a few days of getting foxed, I didn't deserve this,” Blake ground out, trying to sit up. Griggs helped him and stuffed several large pillows behind his back.
Roger waited until Griggs was through. “Try a few months, boy.”
Blake shook his head. It wasn't possible. It could have been only a few days, not months. “You lie.”
“Six months,” Roger said, giving Griggs a nudge.
“Yes, six months,” Griggs said. “You did deserve the knot.”
Blake rubbed his aching head. Were they jesting? No, he didn't believe they were. He tried to remember all he could gather was bits and pieces. Images of him and Thorton filtered through his thoughts. He scowled as he thought of the note. Her standing in front of him. Her leaving. Her words: “You believe this? How does it feel to win, Baron?”
She had not taken any of the clothing he had purchased. Was it to leave a reminder that she wanted nothing from him? Or had she left them behind in order to forget him more easily. Nether answer pleased him.
“I can see your mind is working on something,” Roger stated as he sat on the bed. “Before you get the idea to drink away your misery, let me say a few things.”
Blake scowled, then immediately stopped when it caused too much pain. The old man knew he was in no condition to argue.
“First, you need to pull your arse out of that pity-gutter. Then you need to tend to business around here.”
“Your father is right, Milord. You've been most remiss.”
Blake wanted to smile, but feared the simple gesture might be too painful. The geezers sounded like military men. York and Wellington would have loved to have had these two in their ranks. “No need to belabor your point. I got your meaning. Anything else you wish to grumble about?”
Roger cast a side-glance at Griggs before continuing. “When you have this situation under control, we should decide what to do about Thorton.”
“There's nothing to be decided. Thorton's gone! I'll not have her name mentioned!”
“Nothing to be decided? The hell there ain't.” Roger jumped to his feet.
“Mind your own business ... both of you.”
Roger glared at his son. “And what happens if I don't measure up to your high-and-mighty standards? Will you cast me out into the cold? Or will you simply hang me from the outer walls, letting anyone who passes know I diso
beyed the Beast of Stonecrest? Or perhaps...”
Griggs covered Roger's mouth. “I'd think twice before provoking him further.”
“Wise decision,” Blake said.
“Bah!” Roger shouted. “Growl as loud as you like! Throw a tantrum! But I sired you. I don't fear you, I pity you.”
Blake closed his eyes. “Keep your pity and get out.”
“Will you be needing another case of brandy? It goes so well with your self-pity.”
“Get out! If I remember correctly, it was you who taught me all about self-pity. Was it not you who locked yourself away for the same reason?”
Roger's face paled. Spinning on his heels he left the room.
“Good job, sir,” Griggs stated. “That will teach him for loving you. Good night, Milord.”
* * * *
With longing, Sarah looked down at the sleeping form. For more than nine months she had wanted to at least taste the passion that flowed through this man. Greedily, her blue eyes ran over his body, bringing her own hunger to an all-time high.
She counted it as a private blessing that he slept naked. Slowly, she laid a finger upon his heated skin. A thrilling shiver raced through her. For a brief second she hesitated before softly running her hand down the side of him, feeling the wiry hairs tickle and tease her palm.
He was by no means handsome. Indeed, she thought him rather homely to a point of being unsightly. But that didn't lessen her desire. She had felt like a convent-reared virgin in the last few months. She'd tried every ploy to get at him and all she found was his strong resistance. This was her last chance.
She stripped and gently climbed into the bed. His scent made her mouth water. His body heat caused goose bumps to cover her flesh. She wasn't sure if she trembled from fear or prolonged anticipation. It didn't matter. She would either accomplish her goal or be forced to leave Stonecrest. Whatever the consequences, she would handle them later. For now she would enjoy.
She couldn't stop the sigh that slipped from her lips when her body came in contact with his. Some would think she had to be crazy to desire such a man. But Sarah knew she had a normal mind, even if she had a stronger carnal appetite than most women.
Her hand glided over his chest until she found one flat nipple. She teased it to a hard-ridged peak. Her smile was that of a sly feline when she produced a moan from him and he twisted toward her. Yes ... this was what she wanted, what she had been craving.
She let her hand wander down further, loving the way his sleep-induced body responded to her touch. Springy, crisp hair formed a nest for his stiff, throbbing staff. This was all the testimony she needed. He was ready for her.
Tenderly, she ran her long nail along his hard length, glorifying in her results. Never in her imagination had she dared to dream he would be such as this. Women would be clamoring at his door if they knew.
She guided his large hands to her inflamed breast and moaned when he squeezed. She had waited too long. The fire inside her was consuming her with its flames. His leg moved in between hers. Helplessly, she moved against it as her hand continued to tease him.
The moment her lips were over his, she knew she had made a fatal mistake. His hands stopped their gentle tugging at her breast. His harsh, ragged breathing turned to a lethal, deadly calm. In her haste, she had done herself a wretched disservice. All she could do was play it out till the end.
Her hand worked frantically over his shrinking flesh, trying to bring it back to its feverish state. She withered more urgently against him, hoping her fire would ignite his rapidly cooling body into an inferno. She was failing and hated herself for being so reckless in her quest. Her hunger for sexual release was going to be her downfall.
Sarah had only two choices as far as she could tell. She could run like hell and hide, or continue down this path. She knew what men liked, craved, what made them heavy with need. All she had to do was find the trigger that fired this man's blood.
“Close your eyes, love. Don't think, just feel.”
His roar was loud enough to be heard in London.
Sarah scrambled to her knees. Her eyes widened as another shout issued. Good Lord, she had awakened the Beast too soon.
The door crashed open behind. In the doorway stood old-man Bradley and Griggs. Both looked stunned beyond comprehension. Sarah certainly hoped so. Tears quickly filled her eyes as she hastily grabbed the sheet and pulled it around her.
“Griggs, please stop him,” she cried, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks. “I don't want to be his whore.”
Blake looked ready to commit murder. He stood beside the bed in all his naked glory and glared down at the woman. His chest was rapidly rising and falling. His fists were tightly clenched. “Woman, you had better explain why I woke to find your naked carcass in my bed and assaulting my person.”
He had been dreaming a most erotic dream, one he was used to having. But the nectar he found was not of the one he yearned for. His eyes had opened, hoping to find the familiar molten gold eyes staring back at him. Instead he found the blue eyes of a vexing bitch.
“Explain myself?” Sarah whispered brokenly. “It was you who brought me here.”
“The hell I did!”
Sarah whimpered. “This isn't the first time you have tried to drag me to your bed during your drunken stupor.” Her large watery eyes went to Griggs. “Please don't let him hurt me.”
“Madame, I am not going to hurt you,” Blake stated in a deadly calm voice as he stepped closer to the bed. “I'm going to kill you. I'm going to cut that lying tongue from you.”
Sarah's plea went to Roger. “Please, Milord.” she cried, holding out her hands in a beseeching gesture as the sheet fell to her lap, baring her naked chest. “I knew when I saw Griggs take the bottle from his room what would happen tonight. I try to stay clear from your son when he's drinking. But Cook had me helping her in the kitchen until late this evening. I swear, I do not play the whore for your son or any man.”
“Cover yourself. You disgust me,” Blake said, turning away. “I have not had one drop all day, Madame. I am neither drunk...” He turned back and let his eyes run over her. “Nor, am I desperate.”
“Lie! I saw Griggs get a bottle from his room. And I didn't disgust you a few minutes ago when you were pawing me.”
Griggs picked up the discarded dress and handed it to her. “She is correct.”
“What?” Blake muttered.
“I told you,” Sarah whispered. “You came upon me just outside the kitchen and dragged me to your room. You knew I'd fight, for I love Griggs. You're jealous of that love.”
Blake wasn't especially listening to her ravings. “Explain, Griggs.”
“She's correct. She saw me take a bottle from my room.” Griggs turned to the lovely who was now pulling on her dress. “It always pays to know what is actually going on.”
Her confusion was plain to see.
“His lordship and I drank the bottle of brandy, not the Baron. And he's quite right, he has not had one sip since his father clouted him in his head first thing this morning.”
When Sarah opened her mouth, Griggs held up a hand for silence. “If anyone here is telling a falsehood, ‘tis you. I know for certain you did not work late in the kitchen this evening. I helped Cook clean up ... before we retired to my room.”
Sarah's mouth snapped shut. It was over, all of it. She had failed in her mission, she had failed her nephew, Thomas, and she had failed ... Suddenly, she laughed. There was still Mr. Green. All was not lost. She might have failed, but there was still one ultimate blow to be delivered to the great Baron.
“Poor, poor, Beast,” Sarah murmured. “Life could have been so much kinder to you. I would have helped you to forget that stupid bitch you call a wife if only you would've taken my offering. But you're not so mighty now, are you? I watched as you basked yourself in self-pity and I laughed. But never fear, Baron. Life is not through with you. You and your precious little Thorton still have one price that has yet to be paid.�
�
Blake felt a cold shiver run down his back as her chilling laughter filled the room. Something in her words gave him pause. His first instinct was to choke out her meaning, but he knew if he touched her, he'd kill her.
“Get her from my sight,” Blake growled. “I want answers. I don't care how you get them, just get them. Hand her over to Cook or take a whip to her. Whichever method works.”
“There are no answers, Baron.” Sarah laughed. “Whatever secrets I hold within, will stay within. Kill me, if you like. I will still watch your day of reckoning from Hell.”
“At least you know what awaits you when I'm through with you,” Blake growled as he reached for her.
“I know where I'm going.” Sarah giggled, scrambling from the bed and dodging past Griggs. “The question you'll be asking yourself is who will be joining me there and soon. I'll be sure to tell your wife you send your greetings.”
Blake stopped Griggs in his pursuit of Sarah when the woman threw open the window.
Sarah looked down. All her choices were gone. The Baron would turn her over to the authorities, and for her crimes they would likely put her to death. If she was lucky she might be able to escape and hide in London's back alleys, but there Mr. Green would find her and death would await her for her failure. Returning might also bring death to Thomas. There was only one choice left to her.
Blake took a step forward. “Don't do this! It doesn't have to be this way. All I want is answers.”
“I'm no pigeon. If I'm going to die, I do it by my hand.”
“Sarah, come talk to me.” Roger held out his hand to her.
“I'll save my words for the next world. Hell awaits me.” Sarah straddled the windowsill. Her eyes met Blake's. “Who knows, Baron? Thorton might already be there.”
Blake rushed forward, but Sarah disappeared over the side. On the yard below lay her crumpled, broken body.
Roger laid his hand on his son's shoulder. “She was crazy.”
Blake rubbed his throbbing head. Her words rang like a death toll through his mind. Had it just been the words of a raving mad woman?
“I can send to Rosewood-” Roger words stopped abruptly when Blake turned to glare at him.
