Captive Bride

by Carol Finch

  As Rozalyn peeled off her clothes and sank down into the tub, she let her thoughts flow, contemplating her plan of action. When Dominic came at her, hungry to satisfy the beast within him, she would confess that she had felt some warm emotion when they'd first kissed. She would ask to become better acquainted with him before rushing into a situation that might leave permanent scars on her tender, innocent heart.

  That should do it, Rozalyn thought smugly. Surely Dominic had been born with a smidgeon of conscience. He wouldn't stoop so low as to force himself upon her when all she asked was a little time to allow her affection for him to blossom. She would woo him as she had no other man, making him fall in love with her, giving him no reason to doubt her sincerity. And if her plot was successful, perhaps she would consider a career in the theater. Rozalyn giggled to herself. Indeed, to smile and bat her big blue eyes at Dominic would require a magnificent pepformance. Rozalyn would prefer to shake the man until his teeth rattled. After all, he deserves it, she thought huffily. She ignored the tiny voice of conscience that was berating her for attempting to manipulate this man for her own selfish purposes. She was only doing what had to be done.

  Let Dominic think it had been love at first sight, if he believed in such sentimental notions. Let him think that, in time, she would surrender to his embrace without protest. Let him think she might offer him what no other man had claimed. He would soon realize there was one woman on earth who refused to be dominated by a man.

  Satisfied with her counter tactics, Rozalyn scrubbed her face until it shined. Then she selected the most provocative gown she owned. A sly smile pursed her lips when she wormed into a pink silk affair with a plunging neckline, and she peered at her reflection in the mirror. This will make the rake sit up and take notice, she thought wickedly. Once she had his attention, she would set her plan in motion. Carefully, she pinned her ebony strands on top of her head, to create a sophisticated appearance, but she let a few ringlets dangle about her oval face. She wanted to retain some appearance of youth and innocence, just to remind Dominic that she was at least ten years his junior.

  After her painstaking preparations, Rozalyn spun away from the mirror. If this scheme failed to keep that bold rogue in his place, perhaps she would beg the assistance of some of her rough-edged friends. Rozalyn snickered spitefully at the thought of several ruffians leaping out of the shadows to pound some manners into Dominic. If he couldn't understand tact, maybe he would respond to forceful persuasion.

  As was the custom in the DuBois mansion, Rozalyn was on her way out for the evening when Aubrey was returning from another long day at the warehouse. Although Aubrey had only been home two weeks since his yearly journey to the rendezvous, he had spent not even an hour with his daughter. He traveled to the foot of the Rockies each summer to trade with trappers, and Rozalyn had grown accustomed to his uneventful homecomings. She no longer anticipated a cheerful greeting from her father. She was like a stick of furniture he veered around. Aubrey had never paid attention to her.

  When she descended the steps, garbed in her stunning gown, Aubrey did, however, notice that he was not the only person in the foyer, much to Rozalyn's surprise. When he spoke to her they never truly communicated. Aubrey just made a few inconsequential comments and asked some innocuous questions so he would not have to listen carefully to her responses.

  "Where are you off to this evening?" Aubrey veered toward the study to pour himself a tall drink, forcing Rozalyn to follow him if she intended to have her answer heard.

  A disappointed frown clouded her delicate features, for she realized Lenore was absolutely right about Aubrey. He made only meager attempts to be social to his daughter, as if she were no more than an obligation. Aubrey pretended an interest in her, but he was not concerned enough to await her reply before he ambled away. Rozalyn doubted that he even listened when she supplied an answer.

  Determined to test that theory, she swept into the elaborately decorated study where her father spent his evenings, laboring over his ledgers. "I have a most exciting evening planned," she gushed as she threw back the drapes and peered out into the darkness. "I thought I would take a drive along the wharf and then set your warehouse afire."

  "That's nice," Aubrey mumbled stoically as he plopped down at his massive desk. After rummaging through a drawer, he located his ledgers. "Try to be home at a reasonable hour. The streets are not safe after dark these days."

  What did he care if she were brutally assaulted and left in an unconscious heap in an alleyway? Aubrey didn't even know she existed. He really didn't give a fig what she said or where she went. It was a crushing blow to Rozalyn's pride that her father would not even spare her five minutes of his precious time. What had she done to deserve such disinterest?

  Hurt by his indifference, she ambled out of the study without saying farewell. Why should she? Aubrey was paying no attention. He'd already buried his nose in his ledgers and had blocked out the rest of the world.

  Rozalyn burst through the front door and then planted herself on the bench that sat in a corner of the porch that stretched across the front of their home. Tears triggered by wounded pride swam in her eyes, but Rozalyn refused to release them. She had spent the past nine years braving her father's lack of concern so why should she fall to pieces tonight? He didn't care about her. If she faded into the woodwork, never to reappear, he probably wouldn't even notice she was gone.

  A pensive frown puckered her brow. Was it because of Aubrey's cool indifference that she played her mischievous pranks? Did she hope to make him notice her? Most likely, Rozalyn decided as she considered the past few years of her life. She had led a boisterous existence: chased her own rainbows, followed her every whim, and cavorted with lively characters whose way of life varied greatly from hers. Yet she had not gained her father's attention. Although she had failed to do so, she had learned a valuable lesson. Money does not make the man nor credit him with morals. She had met many delightful characters in the streets. Although most of them were desperate for coin, by and large they retained a certain amount of goodness and conscience. They focused upon survival, and Rozalyn often helped those who were less fortunate. Then, too, she spent many a night listening to the tales and joining in the adventures of the raucous waterfront crowd.

  Indeed, her association with so-called ruffians had earned her a scandalous reputation in the sophisticated social circle of the French aristocracy. But her friendships with the earthy men of the streets were more gratifying than her association with the shallow gentility.

  Dismissing these thoughts, Rozalyn pricked her ears at the sound of an approaching carriage. She had important matters to attend, she reminded herself. Gracefully she descended the steps to accept the groom's supporting arm. Then, breathing a thankful sigh that Dominic had remained at his estate, Rozalyn settled herself on the tufted seat. Staring at the opposite wall, she concentrated on her purpose as the carriage rumbled down the street. She had to tame this lusty beast who had suggested they become intimate since they were supposedly head over heels in love with each other.

  She must pretend to be enamored of this tall, dark, ruggedly handsome cavalier, though he could never truly steal her heart, especially after he had attempted to blackmail her into his bed. If he were a noble gentleman he would expect nothing in return for aiding a damsel in distress. But Dominic Baudelair is a philanderer, she thought resentfully. She would flirt with him and string him along for a while, but she would not allow herself to be seduced. Someday the right man would come along, and Rozalyn would offer him all the love she had to give, the love she had kept bottled up inside her all these years. Until that day came she was not going to experiment with passion—and especially not with Dominic. She wanted no part of him. She'd had enough trouble keeping his straying hands corraled in front of her grandmother. She couldn't even imagine what he might do while they were alone. . . .

  Rozalyn squeezed her eyes shut, squelching the traitorous sensations that spilled through her when Dominic's
handsome visage arose in the darkness. Only an arrogant fool would discount his charm and persuasiveness, she cautioned herself. She could not give an inch. She would have to stay one step ahead of him or she might . . .

  Don't think about that, Rozalyn chided herself. You have enough to fret over. Clinging to positive, determined thoughts, Rozalyn eased back into the carriage seat, mentally plotting her moves. When she appeared on center stage to face the charismatic but dangerous Dominic Baudelair, she would be well prepared.

  Chapter 5

  Rozalyn was jolted from her contemplative deliberations when the brougham in which she was riding came to a screeching halt. As the sound of muffled voices came through the open window, she poked her head out to see the groom holding his hands high above his head while three men aimed their pistols at his chest.

  A robbery, Rozalyn thought disgustedly. She was anxious to confront Dominic and to begin her performance. Indeed, she had spent the past few minutes rehearsing her soliloquy. She did not need her train of thought derailed.

  Hastily, Rozalyn flung open the door and hopped to the ground, only to hear the groom's shocked gasp.

  "Mademoiselle! Stay inside!" Mosley instructed her as he nobly positioned himself in front of his assailants to protect this lovely maid from harm.

  Rozalyn disregarded the groom's instructions. Boldly, she marched up to one of the masked men who looked more than a little familiar. Harvey Duncan's plump physique and short stature gave him away.

  An impish smile pursed her lips as she fished into her purse and then tucked several coins into Harvey's vest pocket. "You truly should find a more respectable occupation, monsieur," she chastised in a tone laced more with amusement than irritation.

  "Rozalyn!" Harvey gasped when he recognized the lady's soft, throaty voice. "What the devil are you doin' in this coach? It ain't yers. You know we never would have stopped it if it was."

  The groom's jaw sagged on its hinges as he listened to this attractive young lass converse with the thief who had ordered his men to surround the carriage and who, until a moment ago, had held his pistol to Mosley's chest.

  "The gentleman with whom I plan to share the evening sent his groom and brougham for me," Rozalyn explained before wheeling around to climb into the carriage. "Now, if you good men will excuse us, we have an appointment to keep." Before she could reach for the door latch, Harvey was beside her, graciously offering his assistance. "Merci, monsieur. You are too kind."

  Mosley half-collapsed in relief when the circle of thieves retired their weapons and flocked to the carriage for one last glimpse of the lady before she disappeared into it. Sweet Jesus! This was the strangest robbery attempt Mosley had ever seen. He stared at Rozalyn's departing back, his weather-beaten features skewed in astonishment.

  "Coming to yer assistance is always my pleasure, mam'selfe," Harvey chuckled. After tucking his pistol in the band of his breeches, he wrapped his stubby fingers around Rozalyn's arm to lift her into the brougham. "We're havin' the usual game at Sadie's Tavern tomorrow night," he whispered confidentially. "You ain't gonna miss it, are you?"

  As Rozalyn sank back onto the seat and primly tucked her full skirts around her legs, a mischievous smile skittered across her lips. "Me? At the gaming tables? Really, monsieur, I think you should know the answer to that." She reached out to straighten the mask that had drooped on the left side of Harvey's cheek. "I wouldn't miss it for the world. What are the stakes?"

  "A week's wages on the wharf and whatever collectables we have in our pockets." Harvey grinned. "Perhaps even a few stolen jewels if some of the men have enjoyed a prosperous week."

  "I see no reason why we can't play merely for the sport of it," Rozalyn admonished lightly. "Did you ever stop to realize that your life of crime might be supporting your penchant for gambling? You could be a wealthy man if you didn't drain your purse at Sadie's gaming tables."

  Harvey laughed out loud at Rozalyn's attempt to lecture him. What a delightful lady she was. Rozalyn had the face of a seraph, a sharp-witted mind, and an ornery streak as wide as the Mississippi. And Lordy how she thrilled to adventure. Rozalyn had no qualms about garbing herself in men's clothes and joining Harvey and his friends, but although Harvey and Rozalyn shared the same unquenchable thirst for excitement, there was a vast difference between them. Rozalyn could easily afford to drop a few coins at the gaming tables and she played for sport. Harvey played to survive. He envied Rozalyn's wealth, but he could not begrudge it to the feisty young lass who had stolen his heart the first time he had laid eyes on her. And he was not the only man who would have given the world for this young woman's affection. This daring sprite had won the hearts of every scoundrel in St. Louis. Because Rozalyn did not consider herself better than her less fortunate friends and she was overly generous, the code of the streets demanded that she be granted amnesty. When she heard that one of her friends was down on his luck, sufficient funds mysteriously found their way into his pocket. Rozalyn expected nothing in return except the opportunity to mingle with men who knew how to appease her thirst for adventure.

  Smiling quietly to himself, Harvey gave her hand a fond squeeze before it fell away from his face. How well he remembered the sad, lonely look on this young girl's face the day he'd halted her carriage almost four years ago. He hadn't had the heart to steal from the young beauty and he'd sent her on her way, but Rozalyn had jumped from the brougham to follow him. Harvey had melted like butter too long on a stove when he'd whirled around to find her staring up at him with those mystical blue eyes. Rozalyn had wanted to know what life was like for those who didn't live in monstrous rock mansions, those who had to scratch and claw for enough coins to afford their meal.

  Harvey had taken the curious little nymph under his wing and had introduced her to a life that had been inconceivable to her. From that day forward, Rozalyn had come to him when her spirits were heavy. Harvey helped her survive the loneliness of living with a father who gave, her wealth but nothing of himself. She had even sneaked Harvey into the mansion when he had been wounded by a man who had come at him with a butcher knife. Right under her father's unobserving nose, Rozalyn had nursed him back to health; she'd stashed enough coins in his pocket to see that he didn't miss a meal while he was recuperating.

  "You be on yer way, missy. I'm sorry for the inconvenience." Harvey backed away and gestured for the groom to climb back onto his perch. "And give my humble apologies to yer new beau for the delay."

  The smile faded from Rozalyn's lips, and she eased her head back against the seat and turned her thoughts to her "new beau." If only Dominic were as agreeable as Harvey, she mused whimsically. She had the uneasy feeling that manipulating a man like Dominic would be a difficult matter, especially so since she had very little experience in such matters. Dominic had an air of confidence and he was very quick-witted. Rozalyn had only a brief acquaintance with the man yet it had led her to believe that he refused to take no for an answer. She would have to keep a watchful eye on him. He was a conniving rascal who made Harvey Duncan appear a saint in comparison. Although Harvey was desperate for coins, he did have scruples, whereas Rozalyn wasn't at all sure Dominic did. He was opportunistic and mercenary, a wolf in gentleman's clothing.

  Dominic peered out the window of the parlor. After rechecking his timepiece, he frowned worriedly. What the devil was keeping Mosley? Had Rozalyn locked herself in her room, refusing to come down? Dominic knew the minx had something planned for he'd forced her into a corner. He wished he could read her complicated mind.

  Hooves clattering against the cobblestoned street drew his attention and he spun away from the window, his long, impatient strides taking him to the porch. Mosley hopped from the driver's seat and hastened toward him, but not before casting one last glance at the young woman who remained enclosed in the coach.

  "Forgive the delay, Master Baudelair," he apologized breathlessly. "I just had the strangest experience of my life."

  Thick eyebrows formed a line over Dominic's green e
yes. "You were accosted by thieves," he predicted. He wasn't the least bit surprised since they swarmed the streets at night.

  "That we were," Mosley affirmed. When Dominic started down the steps to ensure that Rozalyn had not suffered from the harrowing experience, Mosley grabbed him by the arm. "But they didn't hurt the lady. It was the oddest thing I ever did see. The lady hopped out of the carriage while four men were holding me at gunpoint. I thought sure they would make away with her so I told her to get back in the coach. But she waltzed right up to one of the thieves and scolded him for living his life of crime. Then she tossed him a few coins and he helped her back into the carriage." Mosley let his breath out in a rush, then shook his head in disbelief. "There that robber was, apologizing to her for the inconvenience. They stood there visiting like they were old friends."

  Dominic chuckled at the Bemused expression on Mosley's face. So the rumors about this she-cat were true, he concluded. Even muggers and thieves wouldn't lay a hand on this spellbinding witch. This saucy, spirited creature held court in the streets of St. LOuis. Even the ruffians rolled out the red carpet when Rozalyn DuBois appeared. Dominic spitefully wondered how she would fare when set upon by panthers, bears, and unfriendly Indian tribes. She might have charmed the entire male species of the civilized world, but she wouldn't have a prayer in the wild, he decided. The little chit probably thought she had the world in the palm of her hand since she had been spoiled by everything in breeches, but if she were taken from her element and deposited at the foot of the Rockies, she might not be so all-fired sure of herself. And he would enjoy watching Rozalyn DuBois fumble her way through an environment that was as foreign to her as China.