Velvet Embrace

by Nicole Jordan

  Dominic's thoughts had so easily adjusted to this pleasant future that Julian's warning had the same effect as a dousing of ice water. The possibility that Brie might not want him for a husband hadn't even entered Dominic's mind. He had realized of course, that her pride had been wounded, both by his lack of trust in her and his subsequent behavior, but he had been certain that once he tendered his apologies, Brie would forgive him and forget the tragic past. But now it seemed she had thrown his magnanimous gesture back in his face before he had even an opportunity to present his offer.

  Dominic's attitude as he strode determinedly toward the house was a mixture of simmering anger, disbelief, and apprehension. An unproductive search of the ground floor rooms did nothing to sweeten his temper, nor did his mood improve when all the servants shrank from him in fear. At last, however, Dominic cornered a trembling maid who said both ladies could be found upstairs in one of the spare bedchambers. Taking the stairs two at a time, he strode purposefully down

  the hall and rapped sharply on the door.

  Brie was helping Katherine into a warm travelling cloak and had her back to the door, so she didn't immediately see Dominic when he entered. When Katherine visibly stiffened, Brie turned. She froze then, like an animal poised for flight. Even with one arm in a sling, Dominic looked every inch like a powerful predator ready to spring on its victim—and she was to be the victim.

  "I would like a word with you," he ground out menacingly. "In private."

  Seeing the chill look in his eyes, Brie tried to remember all the logical arguments she had prepared just for this moment. But all the rational arguments in the world didn't help the fact that her pulse began leaping uncontrollably every time Dominic simply came near her.

  Mentally trying to bolster her courage, Brie finished tying the strings of Katherine's cloak and gave her a reassuring smile, before silently preceding Dominic from the room.

  The moment they were alone, Dominic grasped her by the arm and guided her to the chamber across the hall. Brie gasped at his rough handling, and when Dominic had shut the door, she swung around to face him, her hands clenched at her sides.

  Seeing the fury in her eyes, Dominic couldn't help smiling at himself. As always, that flashing green fire stirred his blood and drove any rational thoughts from his mind. He ached to take Brie in his arms, to kiss away her anger, to change her indignation to passion. He took a step toward her, intending to embrace her, but Brie retreated across the room.

  "What do you want, Dominic?" she asked warily. "You said you needed to speak to me."

  Dominic hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself. Was she playing some kind of coy game? She knew perfectly well what this interview was about, however ignorant she pretended to be. He meant to ask her to become his wife. But perhaps she needed to hear his proposal from his own lips.

  Curbing his impatience, he replied rather stiffly. "Julian tells me you wish to leave. Before you go, however, I should like you to know that I am willing to offer you the protection of my name."

  Hearing the way he phrased his offer, Brie felt her last lingering hope die. Never, never could she marry this man loving him the way she did, being unloved in return. She averted her face, not wanting him to see the tears that stung her eyes.

  "Brie, did you hear me?" Dominic said softly. "I am asking for your hand in marriage."

  "Yes, I heard you. Julian said that you would feel compelled to offer for me."

  "Not compelled, precisely—although in all honor I cannot allow you to suffer because of my actions. But—"

  "In all honor!" She whirled to face him, wanting to lash out and hurt him as she had been hurt. "Is it honorable to propose marriage because of a misguided sense of guilt? Do you suddenly find you have a conscience? Well, you can rest easy, Dominic. I won't marry you merely to save my reputation. You aren't obliged to protect me, nor are you required to feel guilty because I allowed you into my bed of my own free will."

  Dominic responded with a sardonic smile. "You are much mistaken if you attribute my motives to guilt."

  "Indeed? Then what, pray, are your motives?"

  His eyes narrowed as he studied Brie. What difference did it make why he married her, for Christ's sake? She was being offered a position that most women would be honored to accept. Dominic felt his own temper flaring. He wanted to shake her until she abandoned her absurd attitude and admitted that her reluctance was merely pretense. But when he saw the tired droop of her shoulders and the way she was wearily rubbing her temples, he realized she must be exhausted. "Brie," he said quietly, "this has been a very long day for us both. You should rest. Our discussion can wait until tomorrow."

  "No!" she cried, the fire in her eyes flaring to life again.

  "Then, damn it, what do you want? A recitation of my titles and an account of my various incomes? No?" he said savagely when Brie shook her head. "No, of course not. You have no need for titles and you have an adequate fortune of your own— which, by the way, would come under my control were you to marry me. A point against, surely. Let me see . . . points in favor.

  "One, it is not unusual for a man of my station and age to marry, so let us say I am in need of a wife. Two, while you are perhaps a little too free in your behavior at times, your birth is unexceptional and your breeding adequate for the position as my countess. Three—no, back to two. I could be persuaded, perhaps, to let you continue some of your pursuits, provided you were discreet. Three, your beauty is unquestionable and given a little more training, your performance in bed should measure up to even my exacting standards. Four, you are in need of a husband, whether you admit it or not, someone to guide you and keep a firm hold on your bridle. Five—shall I continue?"

  Brie stared back at him, white-faced. "No, my lord, there is no need to continue. Although you left out several points against. You are arrogant, overbearing, spiteful—"

  "But we have not begun to extol my virtues," he observed dryly.

  "Virtues? I wasn't aware you had any!"

  Dominic hesitated. He wasn't proud of his vicious attack, particularly since he had meant to apologize. Yet when he saw how his one and only marriage proposal had degenerated into a shouting match, he felt his anger dissolve in amusement. "Brie, this is getting us nowhere," he pointed out calmly. "Perhaps tomorrow you will see that marrying me will be the best solution for us both."

  Brie clenched her teeth. "I thank you for your kind offer," she returned, "but I will not marry you. Now will you please let me pass? My friends are waiting for me."

  Dominic made one more attempt to persuade her. Catching Brie's arm as she tried to slip by him, he gently grasped her chin and forced her to meet his gaze. "What if you carry my child?" he asked softly.

  Somehow Brie managed not to flinch. She had no idea what she would do if she were pregnant, but she refused to let him know that the thought troubled her. She could not use a child as an excuse for marriage. "Unlike my grandmother," she said stiffly, "I do not have a suicidal nature. I will not kill myself, if that is what concerns you."

  It was Dominic's turn to pale. His skin went ashen beneath his tan, while his grip tightened painfully on her arm. "That is not what I meant," he said acidly. "I was questioning the wisdom of bringing a bastard into the world."

  Brie did flinch then, seeing the cold glitter in his eyes. "We are speaking of remote possibilities," she said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the quaver from her voice.

  "Not so remote. You are young and healthy."

  "Well . . . , that will be my problem, not yours."

  Dominic's jaw hardened, as if he were considering using physical force to persuade her. But then he abruptly released her and stepped back.

  Brie watched him uncertainly as she rubbed her arm. She had wanted to wound him as she had been wounded, but now she knew she couldn't leave without explaining her reasons for refusing him.

  "Don't you understand?" she whispered. "I will not, cannot tie myself to you in a loveless marriage. You would never forgive me, nor
would I forgive myself."

  For a long moment, Dominic said nothing. When he finally spoke, his tone was as devoid of emotion as his expression. "Of course, you are right. The points against would win out in the long run. I wish you a safe journey." When she made no move to leave, Dominic gestured impatiently with his hand. "Go, Brie, just . . . go."

  Brie turned and fled then, knowing if she stayed a moment longer she would break down completely. She didn't see the anguish that crept into Dominic's eyes as he watched her go, nor did she see how tightly he clenched his fists to keep himself from calling her back. Yet he stood and stared after her for a long while, listening to the silent echo of her retreating footsteps and wondering why his chest felt so achingly hollow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Leaning back wearily against the cushions, Brie gave herself up to the ceaseless swaying motion of the coach. They were nearing the French coast, but the journey already seemed interminable since her parting with Dominic. Even so, time and distance had begun to work their healing magic on her fragmented heart. The acute pain had dulled to a mere throbbing ache, while the misery had faded to numbness.

  Brie sighed. The exertion of pretending an interest in her surroundings during the past few days had been a severe strain on her frayed nerves. Yet keeping up an endless stream of conversation had provided occupation for her mind, and her attentiveness had helped reduce the frequency of worried glances which Katherine and Julian had showered upon her.

  Realizing how uncharitable her thoughts were, Brie flushed guiltily. She ought to be grateful for the consideration her friends had shown her. Julian had been determined to entertain her, and Katherine had been equally determined to ignore the recent explosive events. Both had made her comfort and well-being their prime concern. Their affection for her had seen her through one of the most trying periods of her life, she admitted, stealing a fond glance at them both.

  As the coach rolled into the yard of the inn where they were to stop for lunch, Brie made a concerted effort to shrug off her despondent thoughts. When Julian gave her an engaging grin as he handed her down from the carriage, she responded lightheartedly for the first time in days, giving him a bright smile, then turning to plant an impulsive kiss on Katherine's withered cheek.

  A melee of carriages, horses, and scurrying ostlers impeded their progress as they made their way across the yard, and the common room of the inn was no less crowded. Brie and Katherine waited in the hall, while Julian beckoned to the innkeeper and ordered a private parlor and a meal.

  From her position, Brie had a good view of the crowded taproom. When her gaze wandered absently over the occupants, her attention was caught by a slender, fair-haired man sitting at a table not two yards away. Dressed as a gentleman, the man appeared to be English, although what might have been a ruddy complexion had deepened to a dull red beneath his leathery tan. She was surprised to see him staring so intently at Julian, but when the stranger transferred his gaze to her, Brie experienced a shock. The hatred shining out of those hooded eyes was unmistakable. She shuddered, trying unsuccessfully to break away from his malevolent gaze, and clutched involuntarily at Julian's sleeve.

  Seeing Brie's pale face, Julian abruptly ended his conversation with the landlord and ushered his charges up the stairs to a small parlor. Brie went directly to the hearth, holding her chilled hands out to the cheerful blaze. But in spite of the fire and the warmth of her fur-lined cloak, she found she couldn't stop shivering.

  She couldn't explain her reaction, for she had never seen the fair-haired man before, yet for some reason he terrified her. It was only after lunch had been served and she had drunk several cups of scalding hot tea that her fear began to dissipate.

  The meal was pleasant enough—braised veal with chive sauce, baked cod, goose pate, an assortment of vegetables, and an excellent wine—but Brie hardly tasted it. She spoke in monosyllables, if at all, while Katherine kept up a polite stream of conversation with Julian.

  Finally, though, Brie realized her silence was becoming obvious. Bestirring herself to contribute to the discussion, she asked Julian when they could expect to arrive home.

  "We'll reach Dieppe by this evening," he replied, "and we should be able to sail tomorrow. They will be expecting us at La Belle Fleur, since I reserved rooms when we stayed there last week."

  Brie listened to Julian elaborate their travel plans, but when she heard a squeak in the hall that resembled a creaking floorboard, she jumped and glanced wildly over her shoulder. The parlor door had been left partially open by one of the maidservants, and Brie stared at it as if she expected a ghost to waltz into the room.

  Watching her, Julian frowned. He hadn't wanted to distress her further by being overly solicitous, but when her gaze remained riveted on the door, he grew concerned. "What is the matter, Brie? Dominic isn't coming. He's at least a day behind us since he intended to see Durham properly buried."

  "Must we speak of that?" Katherine murmured, while Brie tore her gaze from the door to glare at Julian.

  "Honestly, Julian. I wasn't even thinking of Dominic."

  "Brie, I hope. . . . Well, no matter," he added with a shrug. "Your experience was far from pleasant, but it's over. You needn't ever see Dom again if you don't wish to."

  When Brie heard the gentle consideration in his tone, a lump formed in her throat. Not wanting to make a fool of herself by crying, she rose from the table and began to gather up her cloak and gloves and reticule. Katherine and Julian shared a look of concern, then wordlessly followed her example.

  They reached Dieppe just as the last lingering rays of sunlight faded. Even though it was twilight, the yard of La Belle Fleur was teeming with carriages and horses, and as their coach drew to a halt, several ostlers leaped forward to provide the excellent service for which the posting house was famous.

  The landlord was just as solicitous. He sent a lackey to see to their baggage and then personally showed them upstairs to their rooms. Brie, noting her companion's weariness, told Julian she would help Katherine lie down. He nodded in reply, saying he would meet her in the private parlor in an hour for dinner.

  Brie was just coming out of Katherine's room when she heard a voice call to her in a harsh whisper. She turned, searching the shadows in the corridor. When a man stepped forward into the flickering lamplight, Brie's hand flew to her throat. She had no trouble recognizing the slender, fair-haired stranger from the inn where they had stopped for lunch—and he had the same paralyzing effect on her now as he had had then.

  He reached her in three strides, moving with deceptive speed, then grasped her arm as if to prevent her escape. His action was unnecessary, though. Brie could not have moved had her life depended on it.

  "Mademoiselle," he repeated in that same urgent whisper. "You are a friend of Dominic Serrault, Lord Stanton?" He spoke in French, but when Brie didn't utter a sound, he switched to English. "Come, answer me. Are you Miss Carringdon? Do you know Stanton?"

  When she managed to nod, the stranger relaxed. His eyes darted once around the hall, then returned to Brie as he spoke again.

  Brie had trouble following what he was saying, but her heart lurched when she realized there had been an accident. Dominic had been badly injured and had called for her, the man said. She must come at once.

  Brie swayed, feeling suddenly faint. She made no protest when the stranger's grip tightened on her arm, but allowed him to lead her downstairs and out into the crowded yard. A closed carriage was waiting for them. The stranger urged Brie into its dark interior, then climbed in after her and slammed the door.

  The coach was moving rapidly away from the inn before Briebelatedly came to her senses. She should have discovered their destination, she realized. At the very least she should have told Julian she was leaving.

  She was about to ask that the coach be stopped when the fair- haired man spoke from the opposite seat, saying that Dominic would be grateful for her presence. Although Brie couldn't see his face well in the darkness, she caugh
t a note in his voice that sounded oddly like amusement.

  Realizing suddenly that she had been duped, Brie silently cursed herself for being a fool. There had been no accident. Dominic was in no danger. This was some kind of abduction, and she had let herself be led away like a sheep to slaughter.

  She opened her mouth to give her abductor a scathing denunciation, but then thought better of giving herself away and clamped her lips shut. Perhaps if he thought he were dealing with a distressed female, she would stand a greater chance of escape.

  Cautiously, she felt for her reticule with its hidden pistol. When she discovered the strings were no longer looped around her wrist, she realized the stranger had somehow taken it from her. Repressing a feeling of panic, she told herself to wait for her chance, then bit down hard on her lower lip till she could taste blood, hoping that the pain would keep her more alert.

  The stranger must have sensed a change in her, however, for he let out his breath in a slow chuckle. "I was wondering when you would catch on. I had heard that you were clever, Miss Carringdon, but I assumed Martin was mistaken when you were so naive as to come without a struggle."

  Brie didn't answer. She didn't trust herself to speak without her voice trembling.

  "Of course, I already had reason to doubt Martin's report," the stranger continued. "Stanton never has held cleverness as a prerequisite for his . . . women, if you will forgive me for saying so."

  Goaded by his insult, Brie found her tongue. "You can hardly expect forgiveness, sir! And certainly not before you tell me who you are and what you want of me." She could feel his eyes raking her in the darkness. His reply, when it came, repelled her but really didn't surprise her.

  "Surely you have guessed, Miss Carringdon. I am Charles Germain. I expect you recognize the name, even though we have never met before. As for what I want . . . I want Dominic Serrault. And, now that I have made your charming acquaintance, I would be less than a man if I did not want you as well."