by Dawn Ireland
Heat rose in her cheeks. She must look a sight. “Two men put a sack over my head while I was sitting in the park.” She rubbed her face with the cloth, but without a mirror she couldn’t tell if she accomplished anything. “They locked me in a room and left.” She had never seen Morgan angry, but the look in his eyes made her happy he counted her amongst his friends.
“Did they hurt you?”
“No. I think they were waiting for Lord Addington.”
Morgan’s low voice carried over the sounds of man and animal outside the carriage. “How did you escape?”
“I used my knife on the nails in the shutters and climbed down a tree.”
“They left you a knife?” Bradford’s incredulous voice contrasted with his politely surprised expression.
She grinned at Morgan. “I don’t think they expected me to carry one.”
Morgan broke into laughter, and Lord Bradford smiled. Declan didn’t appear to find it amusing. He sat forward and gave her the reproving look he’d used with her as a child. “You could have been killed.”
”Well, I would have been killed, or worse, if I had remained there.” Where was the desperate man from the church? Ever since she’d been handed up into the carriage, Declan had cast her sullen looks. Rather like a little boy who had been denied something he wanted. None of this was her fault, but he acted as if she’d planned it.
She crossed her arms and held his gaze. “What was I supposed to do, wait until you came to rescue me?”
Declan’s face became more grim, and a muscle in his jaw twitched as he sat back on the seat. She could almost feel the barrier he erected between them. His withdrawal hurt more than his harsh words.
What had she expected, that he’d tell her he loved her? Disgusted that she’d allowed herself to hope, she stared out the window. An uneasy silence ensued.
He should be gratified she’d returned without his help. At least he didn’t have to rescue her again. She cast a furtive glance in his direction. A lock of sable hair caressed his forehead. How she longed to brush back the wayward curl and run her hands through his hair. No doubt he’d evade her grasp. With a sigh, she turned her attention to removing the dirt from the hem of her tattered skirt.
“Did your abductors use any names?” Lord Bradford asked.
“One of the men did call the other Spider. Does that help?”
“Yes.”
Lord Bradford tapped his fingertips against his thigh for several moments. “Would you be able to show me where you were being held?”
“I’m not sure. It was a two-story building, with a fishmonger’s shop below my room.” She stuck the handkerchief up her sleeve. “I followed the bells to get to the church. I’m afraid I didn’t try to memorize my surroundings.”
“No matter. Based on what you and Lord Worthington have told me, Lord Addington is behind this. He visited the docks today, but then returned to his establishment. He could have hired henchmen to do his bidding.”
“How did you find me?”
“One of the boys in my employ spotted you from the description we gave him.”
“So that’s who was following me.”
Lord Bradford smiled. “Yes. He sent someone to get us after you entered the church. You’ve won his respect. It seems you nearly outran him.” Declan’s cousin tilted his head and gave her an assessing look. “I don’t think that’s ever happened.”
She could feel her face grow warm. “I’ve had practice.”
“Outrunning kidnappers?” Lord Bradford raised an eyebrow, a look of admiration in his eyes.
“No.”
“Lady Lochsdale has a number of interesting pastimes.” Declan gave her a disapproving look.
“You carry a knife and outrun kidnappers.” Lord Bradford shook his head. “Anything else?”
Thank God the carriage lurched to a stop in front of Castelton House, and she didn’t have to answer. Who knew what else her guardian would disapprove of next? Declan got out first, helping her down. He made it a point to touch her as little as possible.
Lady Bradford came out the front entrance, followed by Anna. “Oh my dear child, come in. We were so worried about you.” Declan’s aunt directed her into the house and bustled her upstairs, leaving the men in the entrance hall.
Alex wanted to be alone, but the women followed her into the bedroom. Lady Bradford asked Williams to have a bath drawn and a fire started. In the meantime, they washed her face, combed out the worst of the tangles in her hair, and settled her on the window seat with a blanket thrown over her shoulders. They acted as if she were family, fussing over her more than a captain watched over his charts, and it made her happy. She hadn’t expected to care for Declan’s family. It was nice to know they’d missed her, even though Declan hadn’t.
Alex glanced around her bedroom and wrapped the covering close to her body. Nothing had changed. Was it only this morning she’d thrown Luther out?
The maid who’d started the fire left the room, and Lady Bradford shut the door behind her, then turned. Alex thought there were new lines at the corners of her eyes. She must have noticed Alex’s concern, because she took a deep breath and pasted on a smile. “So, what happened?”
“I was abducted in the park.”
“Oh my.” The older woman’s hand flew to her throat.
“Were your captors handsome?” Anna asked in a dreamy voice from her perch on Alex’s bed.
“No. Well, actually, I couldn’t tell. They’d put a sack over my head. But they didn’t sound handsome.”
“I bet they were.” Anna gave a long sigh. “I’d love to have an adventure like that some day.”
Lady Bradford and Alex both answered, “No, you wouldn’t.” They looked at each other and laughed. It felt good to be able to find amusement in her abduction, now that she was home safe.
Home?
When had she started to think of this as home? Initially, the thought of residing at Declan’s residence had been daunting, but she liked it here. She had to admit a great deal of that desire to remain was due to the possibility of seeing Declan.
Williams entered, followed by two servants bearing a wooden tub. They set it in the middle of the floor and began to make the necessary trips back and forth to fill it with hot water. When they’d finished, she watched the steam coming from the bath and longed to soak away the grime of her little prison. She stood and crossed to the bed to deposit the blanket.
Lady Bradford must have guessed her thoughts. “Why don’t we let you bathe. You can tell us what happened when you’re rested. Would you like Mary to attend you?”
“No, thank you. I need a little time to myself.”
Everyone left, but Lady Bradford paused a moment before exiting. “I’ve never seen Lord Worthington so upset.”
“He’s angry with me.”
“No, he’s not. He’s angry with himself. Give him a little more time.”
Alex shook her head. “I’ve decided to make my choice after the masquerade ball this weekend. I suspect my attackers were hired by my cousin, Lord Addington.” She sat down on the edge of her bed and tried to run her fingers through her matted curls. “I can’t wait any longer to marry. He could try this again.”
“But the Season isn’t over. Lord Worthington will protect you, now that he knows what could happen.”
“I can’t depend on that. There’s too much at stake. I’ve given Lord Worthington my choices. All four will be there on Saturday night. If he has any feelings for me, he’ll have to speak up then.”
“I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“So do I.”
Water pummeled the windows outside the library. Declan hadn’t seen a storm like this in several years. Lightning streaked across the sky, brightening the room considerably.
He hadn’t bothered with an oil lamp, preferring the meager light from the fireplace and the show nature provided. The storm matched the turmoil in his soul.
His ward had been kidnapped, when he should have
protected her. That was the only reason for his panic. She was his responsibility, and he’d failed to keep her safe.
It didn’t have anything to do with love.
Alex’s grandfather had given her to him, and he’d let someone abduct her, almost under his very nose. He took another long drink of brandy from a snifter that had rarely been empty that evening. Hell, she’d rescued herself as well.
Crack. The loudest burst of thunder he’d heard caused the windows to vibrate. He stood, amazed to find he was still steady after the amount of alcohol he’d consumed.
He found his way over to the lamp, adjusted the wick, and lit it with a stick from the fire. Then he withdrew a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. Alex’s list. He knew every name, and her assessment was correct. They’d marry her quickly when they discovered her holdings.
Lord Holford was too old. Alex knew nothing about procreation, and he had to assume she didn’t know older men were rarely prolific when it came to fathering children. He’d point out her intended could die first, then she’d be right back where she had started.
It might be a little more difficult to come up with something for Lord Avery and Lord Brighton. They were ideal. At least in Alex’s eyes. They’d leave her alone, provided she supplied much needed capital. Then again, he’d heard rumors that Brighton preferred boys, but that wouldn’t change much for Alex. The man still needed an heir.
Lord Duprey appeared last. He didn’t trust him. Alex didn’t need a ladies man with a reputation of flitting from one affair to the next. He doubted she would tolerate a parade of woman constantly connected to Duprey’s name. He’d end up with her knife hilt sticking from his chest.
Of course, she’d have to love him to care. From what she’d said, she didn’t love any of these men. Not that it should matter to him. Whom she loved was her own business.
He found some solace in knowing she was safe in her bed upstairs. He’d been lucky. The whole affair might have had a different ending. Perhaps he should check on her? He picked up the lamp and left the library. As he crossed the hallway, the light caught the amber eyes of the winged lion at the foot of the stairs, causing them to glow.
Some people were startled by the piece, but he’d always liked it. For him, the large cat’s fierceness represented strength and the ability to take on the world alone. Those were qualities he admired. It was dangerous to depend on someone else.
When he reached the top of the stairs, he thought he heard moans. It wasn’t the wind. These sounds were gaining in intensity and seemed to be coming from Alex’s room. A large clap of thunder rumbled through the house, then he heard a cry. Without knocking, he opened Alex’s door.
She was naked to the waist. That in itself was enough to cause him to go hard instantly, even in his somewhat inebriated condition. But the look on her face overrode any feelings of lust. She was in anguish. Her unfocused eyes were wide open, and tears streamed down her face.
She shook her head back and forth. “Mother, I’m here. Can’t you see me? Don’t die, Mother. What will we do without you?” She started to tremble and reached her arms out to her imaginary mother. “You’re burning up. Father says I should keep you cool. Please don’t go. I’ll be good. I’m afraid, Mother, the storm ...”
Declan put his lamp on the table by the bed, then took her by the shoulders and gave her a slight shake. When she didn’t respond, he tried harder. “Lady Lochsdale, Alex, wake up. You’re dreaming.” She started to cry in earnest now, and he cradled her head to his shoulder.
“Shh, it’s all right. You’re safe.” He patted her back, rocking her like a child. After a time, the sobbing stopped. He could tell the moment she knew he was there. She jerked backward, only to grab the blankets and lift them to her chin.
He regretted the short view he’d received of her magnificent breasts. They were just as he remembered them, shell colored nipples against pale smooth skin.
“What are you doing in my room?”
“You were having a nightmare. I heard your cries and came in.” He smiled at her. “You really should lock your door if you persist in sleeping nude.”
“How I sleep is my own affair.” Alex wrapped the covers tighter around her body.
“Do you have these nightmares often?” He wasn’t going to argue with her. She’d been under a great deal of strain. He’d heard that could often cause sleep disturbances.
“Not since the early days with my grandfather.” She fluffed up the pillows behind her, still retaining her death grip on her blankets, and laid back. Her hair billowed over the pillows, making her look like some sort of sad fairy that had lost her wings.
“What do you dream about?” He was curious what could reduce a woman as strong as Alex to tears. From her comments, she had dreamed about her mother’s death, but that had occurred years ago.
She turned away and stayed still for so long he didn’t think she would answer. “I dreamt about my mother. We’re on The Merry Elizabeth, in the middle of a hurricane.” As if to give her tale life, thunder rent the silence, battering more rain on the windowpanes. “She’s so sick. I’m trying to help her, but I can barely stand with the sway of the ship. I’m helpless. One moment she’s clasping my hand and then ...” She turned her tear-streaked face to him. “There wasn’t anything I could do.”
He reached down and gathered her against him. “It wasn’t your fault. She was sick. Nothing could have been done.” He kissed the top of her head. “Be happy for the years you had together.” She leaned back, and he gazed down into her face, then used his thumb to wipe away a lone tear that was about to enter her mouth.
“I’m sorry.” She appeared calmer. Only her haunted eyes told him the memory lingered. “I shouldn’t go on so. You never even knew your mother.”
He laid her back against the pillows, then maneuvered to the edge of the bed, facing the lamp. The flame danced on its wick, as he tried to ignore the portrait of his mother that flickered in his memory. “Who told you I never knew my mother?”
“Your aunt.” Alex reached out a hand and placed it on his arm. “If it helps, from what little I’ve discovered, she sounded like a wonderful woman.”
“I wouldn’t know. My father never talked about her. At least to me.”
“You weren’t close?”
“Hardly.” He thought back to those years of loneliness and isolation. His father had chosen his employees well; not one dared show any concern for their employer’s son. “My father spent his days in the drawing room, pondering the painting of his beloved through a stupor of alcohol.”
“I don’t recall a painting of your mother in there.”
“I had it taken down after he died. It’s in the attic.” He turned toward her. Perhaps now she’d understand why it was impossible for him to love her. He would never be like his father. His son would not have to endure bitterness and hate.
Alex studied him intently, golden specks swirling in her green eyes. “If you gave your aunt a chance, I think she’d relish talking about her sister. Lady Bradford loved her, just as she loves you.”
“Does she?” As a child, he’d had hopes his mother’s family would rescue him from his father. He remembered the despair he’d felt the day he realized they’d deserted him. “Is that why she didn’t come to see me all those years?”
“She didn’t come to see you because she was threatened with physical force if she refused to keep away.” Alex reached out, her palm warming his cheek. “Not everyone is brave. She did what she could, and she has regrets. Lord Worthington, you keep yourself apart from everyone and everything. If you live your life without learning to forgive, you’ll never know real joy.”
“You’d have me forget?”
Alex dropped her hand. The storm outside couldn’t begin to compare with the look on her face. He stood, then crossed to the end of the bed and turned. He couldn’t forgive, but if it would make Alex happy. “All right, all right, I’ll speak with her.”
She relaxed back against her pill
ow. “Good. I’m sure she’ll enjoy sharing wonderful memories about your mother. From what she tells me, you look like her.”
“Growing up, I didn’t consider that a benefit. My father would take one look at my face and burst into a rage, but now ...” He’d been a fool to blame his mother for what had happened. All these years, and he knew so little about her.
“Did my aunt mention that my mother named me Declan before she died?” He supposed he was fortunate his father had let the name stand.
“No, but I’ve always liked your name.”
Even with her tear-streaked face, Alex tugged at his soul. “Then why don’t I ever hear it cross your lips?”
She adjusted her blankets, as if they were the finest ball-gown. “I don’t think it’s proper for me to call you by your Christian name.”
He leaned against the bedpost, his arms crossed. “Why not? I’ve used yours often enough.”
Alex grinned at him. “Only in anger.”
“Then I think I should rectify that situation.” He straightened and faced her, then crooked his finger. “Come here, Alexandra.” He was afraid she wouldn’t come, but she awkwardly maneuvered herself up on her knees and crossed the short distance, still clutching the blanket.
She stopped in front of him. “Yes?”
He swallowed. “I want you to call me Declan. Let me hear you say it.”
“Declan.”
“Again.”
“Declan.” She touched his forehead. “Declan.” She touched his nose. “Declan.” She left her finger in the dimple on his chin. “There, is that enough?”
“It’ll never be enough.” He took her hand and kissed the center of her palm. When she didn’t draw away, he lightly nibbled at the inside of her wrist, feeling her quiver under his lips. God, he’d never wanted a woman so much before.
He trailed small kisses up her arm, until he got to her face. Tasting the saltiness of her tears, he kissed her everywhere except the mouth, until finally her lips sought his. Even then, he didn’t linger. His mouth trailed down her neck, making the unconscious journey to her breasts.
