Velvet Embrace

by Nicole Jordan

  He chuckled at her silence, and his soft laughter sent a shudder up Brie's spine. "The next few hours should be rather pleasant," he said mildly, "for me, if not for you. And if you are particularly obedient, I may reconsider handing you over to Martin. You do remember Martin, do you not? He and his brother Freddie paid your stables a visit once. He wasn't at all pleased by his brother's death and is quite anxious to make your acquaintance. When he reported to me in London, all he could talk about was the revenge he would exact on you and your lover. I have first claim, however."

  Germain paused, as if he were measuring the impact of his words had on her, and Brie dug her nails into her palms, trying to keep her fear under control. When he spoke again, she could hear the gloating triumph in his voice.

  "I can just imagine Dominic's rage when he discovers he has shared you with his most hated enemy. But then I could be speaking prematurely. After you get a taste of my lovemaking, you may not wish to return to him. Nor would he want you, I suspect. He was rather angry when I stole his last mistress from him, beneath his very nose." Germain clucked his tongue. "Poor Cassandra. Dominic killed her, you know—for her faithlessness. But don't be concerned. He won't be able to harm you when he is dead."

  Brie had difficulty following what Germain was saying, but she understood one thing quite clearly: she was to be used to bait a trap for Dominic. She was thankful when despite her mounting fear she managed to scoff quite credibly. "If you think Lord Stanton will come after me, I'm afraid you art overestimating my appeal. You weren't present when I tool my leave of him, so you couldn't be aware of his dislike fo; me.

  That made Germain hesitate, but then he chuckled once more. "He will come. Dominic may not care a whit for you personally, but he has always been protective of his possessions. He will want you back, if only because I have taken you. Until then, my little dove, you will help me to while away the hours."

  Brie had no response for Germain's observation. She doubted that Dominic cared enough about her to rescue her, but if he did attempt it, he would be walking straight into this madman's trap. She couldn't view either alternative with equanimity, but she knew she would find it unbearable if she were used to lure Dominic to his death. She could only hope for a chance to escape before this fair-haired demon could carry out his plans.

  Watching him, she tried to steady her thoughts. Her eyes had become accustomed to the darkness by now, and she could see his gloved hand grip the seat, bracing against the sway of the coach as it rounded a street corner. When she felt their speed slacken, Brie decided to take the slim chance the slowei pace offered. Making a desperate lunge, she flung herself at the carriage door.

  It swung open when she twisted the handle, and she felt herself falling toward the rough cobblestones. But then Germain caught a handful of her skirts, preventing her escape. He swore violently as he jerked her back into the coach and threw her against her seat.

  The impact knocked the breath from her body. Stunned and gasping, Brie was unable to duck when he drew back an arm and struck her across the face.

  The vicious blow made her head snap back, sending it cracking against the wood panel behind her, and Germain's curses were the last thing she heard before fiery sparks exploded inside her skull.

  She regained consciousness slowly, swimming in a painful black void. When the murkiness gave way to shimmering brightness, Brie moaned in protest. Cringing, she turned away and buried her face gratefully in the rough-textured cloth beneath her cheek. She slept.

  When she next woke, there was a relentless pounding in her head and her stomach was churning. She opened her eyes, trying to focus, but the room swayed alarmingly and another wave of nausea swept over her, almost sending her back into oblivion. She closed her eyes, feeling herself break out in a cold sweat.

  When she was able to open them without sending the room into a spin, she discovered that she was lying on a small cot. Her cloak was gone, but she was covered to the waist with a thin coverlet, and her hands were bound so tightly that all feeling in her fingers had disappeared. Seeing the rope, Brie remembered Germain and his threats. He must have brought her here after she had tried to escape, she thought with dismay. She looked around her, trying to force down her rising panic.

  The room appeared to be an attic of sorts. Besides the cot, a rough-hewn slab of wood that improvised as a table was the only recognizable piece of furniture. A candle had been left burning there, and since no sunlight was streaming through the uncurtained window, Brie decided it must be evening.

  Carefully, she shifted her weight upon the lumpy mattress, testing her body's reactions to movement. Aside from a stiffness in her muscles, the pain in her head and the numbness in her hands seemed to be the only apparent damage. Forcing her body into an upright position, however, required an unusual degree of effort, and Brie had to support herself with her bound hands while she waited for an end to the nausea that washed over her in merciless waves.

  It left her weak and trembling, but after a time, she pushed herself to her feet and stumbled to the window, pressing her forehead against the pane to look down. Far below, shrouded in shadows, was a yard surrounded by a high wall of iron.

  Her breath caught on a sob when she realized the hopelessness of her situation. How could she possibly devise an escape? She had no idea where she was, or how long she had remained unconscious, or even what her abductor meant to do with her. She was hungry and close to exhaustion and she had already begun to shake from the chill damp of her prison cell. And even if she were able to free herself from her bonds, breaking the window—which proved to be locked—would most likely rouse her captor and bring him running. Or, barring that, if she managed to reach the ground below without sustaining a severe injury, she would still have to scale the fence with its treacherous, protruding spikes.

  Sinking to her knees, Brie buried her face in her arms and succumbed to fear and despair. Deep, racking sobs shook her slender frame as she began to cry.

  Finally, though, her pride reasserted itself, making her aware that she had awarded her captor the victory before the fight had even begun. Anger began to burn within her then, giving her strength, and she dashed away her tears, realizing that defiance would stand her in far better stead than capitulation. And there was always the chance that Dominic might actually try and rescue her. That small ray of hope bolstered her courage immeasurably, and for the first time since wakening, she looked around in search of a weapon.

  There was not much that could serve her purpose. A pile of dirty rags lay heaped next to faded newspapers, brittle with age. A coin shone dully in one corner, while in another, a child's rag doll lay abandoned and forgotten. A stash of broken sticks that had once been a rocking chair seemed to offer the best alternative.

  Dismissing these for a moment, Brie turned her attention to her only light. The wooden candlestick was too small to be used as a weapon, but if her bonds could be burnt away. . . . With firm deliberation, Brie went to the table and thrust her hands above the candleflame, letting the fire lick the thick knot between her wrists. She winced as the heat scorched her skin, grinding her teeth when the pain became almost unbearable. Her patience was rewarded, though, for the rope at last began to send up tiny curls of smoke and the threads began to fray.

  Brie was concentrating so intently on her task that she missed hearing the scrape of approaching footsteps. When a key turned in the lock, she jumped, then whirled as the attic door swung wide. She froze as she met the hooded eyes of her captor.

  He was slightly more disheveled than when she had last seen him. His clothes were rumpled, while his blond hair fell across his forehead and a growth of new beard darkened his sunburned face. But he still wore that air of supreme confidence, and the predatory gleam in his eyes still had the power to frighten her.

  His surprise at seeing Brie standing beside the table swiftly turned to outrage when he realized she had been trying to burn away her bonds. He leapt at her, reaching her side in two strides, and grabbed her by t
he arm. Then jerking her around, he flung her away with a force that sent her sprawling.

  With her hands tied, Brie wasn't able to break her fall. She cried out in pain as she hit the floor, then lay there face down on the filthy wooden planks, gasping for breath and fighting the welling nausea as a stream of curses broke over her head.

  Germain continued his harangue for nearly a minute before quite suddenly his tone changed. "Get up, you little bitch," he said rather calmly, "before I kick you. I want you in one piece, not fainting dead away as you did before. It was rather clever of you, I admit. . . ."

  Brie heard the rest of his speech only vaguely, but she understood two things quite well. The first was that her unconscious state had been all that had saved her from ravishment. The second was that he meant to rectify the omission immediately. She watched in horror as he shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the foot of the cot. Yet when he slowly began to move toward her, she lay there paralyzed, too frightened even to try to scramble away.

  They both heard the noise. It was no more than a whisper of sound from somewhere below, but they both reacted to it; Germain tensed and cocked his head in an attitude of listening, while Brie closed her eyes and held her breath, hoping desperately that she had somehow been offered a reprieve. Fear had made her almost numb, but she could feel her heart slamming against her ribs as Germain walked to the door and peered out.

  After a moment, he called loudly and somewhat uncertainly to Martin. He apparently was not reassured by the lack of response, for he swore under his breath and pulled a knife from the belt of his trousers.

  Brie shrank away instinctively when Germain returned to her side, for the wicked gleam of the blade mirrored the glitter in his pale eyes. But he only hauled her abruptly to her feet, then used the knife to cut away the rope binding her hands. She nearly screamed as the blood rushed to her hands, sending an agonizing pain shooting up her arms.

  Hearing her involuntary whimper, Germain wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed the sharp steel against her side in silent warning. "Don't make a sound," he hissed. "Or you won't live long enough to greet your lover."

  Her knees threatening to collapse, Brie managed to nod, but she swayed against him involuntarily. Germain snarled another oath, then lifted her up, crushing her against his side. Half carrying her, he propelled her from her attic prison and along the darkened corridor. He released her when they reached a flight of steep, narrow stairs, merely to shove her in front of him. Brie stumbled and almost fell, and only her instinctive gesture of throwing out her hands to grasp the rail banister prevented her from tumbling headfirst.

  After what seemed like an endless number of flights, they reached the ground floor. Germain came to a halt, jerking her up by the collar, then stood listening, very much like a fox sniffing the wind. Brie took a long shuddering breath and cautiously looked about her, trying to get her bearings.

  The front door was immediately to her left, shut tightly and well bolted. The sight of those heavy drawn bolts made her heart sink, but they must have reassured her captor, for he gave her a push toward the room across the hall. "We will wait in there," he said, forcibly directing her footsteps.

  Light was streaming brightly from the open door, and Brie winced as it struck her eyes. She took three steps into the room, then halted abruptly, her heart leaping with joy and terror. Dominic sat in a large armchair facing them, looking very much at ease as he held a pistol trained on them.

  Brie felt her fair-haired captor stiffen, but before she even had time to think, he had dragged her in front of him and was pressing his knife against her side. "How did you get in here?" he ground out, addressing Dominic.

  A lamp stood on the mantle behind Dominic, the bright light casting his face in shadow, but Brie could see his lip curl. "My dear Charles, were you not expecting me?"

  His tone was soft and mocking, but at the sound of his beloved voice, Brie swayed. Not even the bite of cold steel against her ribs could dampen her relief at seeing him again.

  "How did you get past Martin?" Germain demanded, making Brie feel his rage as he held her so tightly.

  "Jacques handled your henchman easily enough," Dominic replied. "You forget that I once was quite familiar with this particular house. But I might ask you a similar question. How did you manage to escape Jason's watchful eye? I shall have a word to say about his laxity when I next see him."

  Charles raised his knife, pressing the sharp edge threateningly against Brie's throat. "You will put down that pistol if you want her to live."

  Dominic hesitated, his gray eyes flicking over Brie as if he were seriously deliberating. Then he shrugged. "Do what you will with her. She is nothing to me. I've felt her claws once too often to care what becomes of her."

  Hearing his casual denouncement, Brie paled. Her eyes were huge and haunted as she stared at Dominic, not wanting to believe she had heard him correctly. Then she saw his mouth twist in a sardonic smile. "Perhaps I should have adopted your method of silencing her," he said, sounding amused. "A knife is a bit uncivilized, but effective. I've not heard her sharp tongue stilled until this moment."

  His cruel words cut Brie more deeply than any knife. She had always known Dominic didn't love her, but she had thought he might care enough to try and rescue her. That hope that had sustained her in her moments of paralyzing fear, but she realized now how foolish she had been. He had come, not to rescue her, but to carry out a vendetta against his enemy. It was nothing to him if Charles Germain ended her life with his blade.

  Overwhelmed by pain and anger. Brie began to struggle, no longer caring that a ruthless madman was holding a knife at her throat. When Germain swore and ordered her to be still, Dominic laughed harshly. "See, the vixen would like nothing better than to carve out my heart and serve it on a platter. Keep a good hold on her, Charles, I beg you. Even unarmed, she can be dangerous."

  "You're lying, Stanton! Martin saw you with her more than once. You were so hot for the bitch, you couldn't keep your hands to yourself."

  "Can you fault me?" Dominic replied laconically, ignoring the taunt. "The pleasures of her delightful body are without peer—as you well know if she has shared your bed."

  "Indeed," Charles smirked as his hand swept upward to fondle Brie's breast. Brie closed her eyes, shuddering with revulsion.

  Dominic leaned back in his chair. "You're welcome to her, Charles, but I ought to warn you—she's only interested in marriage. She tried to trick me into offering for her just last week. I was even tempted to let myself be caught, she pleads so convincingly."

  Knowing that for a bold-faced lie, Brie opened her eyes to stare at Dominic. He was looking directly at her, the piercing intentness of his gaze at odds with his casual pose. It seemed as if he were trying to communicate something to her.

  Reading the silent message in his eyes, she suddenly understood his intention; he was pretending not to care merely to direct Germain's attention away from her. A wave of relief washed over her, leaving her weak. Whatever Dominic's feelings for her, he wouldn't enjoy watching her die.

  "But I didn't come here to quarrel with you over the lady," Dominic said, switching his gaze to Germain. "I came to discuss the boy I turned over to you here in this house, the one you later killed. You remember Nicholas Dumonde, don't you, Charles? You said his death was accidental—but it wasn't, was it? And you knew he was Durham's bastard. I thought perhaps you did," he added dryly, watching his opponent's face.

  When Germain didn't reply, Dominic smiled a decidedly nasty smile. "You covered your tracks well, Charles, I must admit. Durham never knew. Ironic, was it not, that he later hired his son's murderer to kill the man he thought responsible?"

  His voice lowered to a mere whisper then. "You will die for that, Charles. By my hand. I could shoot you. However . . ." His tone became normal again, sounding almost pleasant, as if he were proposing a stroll through the park. "However, I am prepared to be magnanimous and offer you a sporting chance. I brought a pair of foils
for us to use. I imagine you are almost recovered from your wound, and as you can see," he indicated the sling that supported his right arm, "I have sustained one of my own. That will give you a decided advantage, since I will have to fight left-handed.

  "You needn't look for your henchman to appear," he added when Germain threw a glance over his shoulder. "Jacques is keeping him occupied. Well, what is it to be, Charles?" Slipping his arm from the sling, Dominic transferred his pistol to his right hand but kept it trained on his foe as he stood up. Reaching behind him where a pair of rapiers lay on the mantle, he grasped one in his left hand and tested the blade, making the air hiss around him.

  "Well, Charles?" Dominic repeated. "Shall we fight, or do you mean to hide behind a woman's skirts all evening?"

  As Charles weighed his chances, Brie watched Dominic, unable to tear her gaze away. When she felt the increasing pressure of the blade at her throat, she held her breath, waiting for the cold steel to pierce her throat.

  But then Germain shifted the knife to his left hand in order to free his sword arm. He deftly caught the foil Dominic tossed him and stood holding Brie while Dominic divested himself of his sling and coat.

  Those moments passed with agonizing slowness for Brie. Her mind felt strangely divorced from her body, as if she were watching a stage drama as an impassive observer rather than an active participant. She could feel Germain's tenseness, and glancing over her shoulder, she could see the beads of perspiration that had broken out on his forehead. When she saw the brightly stained bandage that wrapped Dominic's arm, however, Brie caught her breath in a gasp. The sleeve of his lawn shirt was soaked in blood, and his silk waistcoat was already flecked with red. Dominic had been telling the truth, Brie realized with dismay. Wounded as he was, he wouldn't just be at a disadvantage; it would be a miracle if he survived!

  Brie couldn't bear to think of the outcome of such an uneven contest. Dominic's life was far more important to her than his love, more important even than her own life. Her anguished-eyes flew to his face, and when she saw he was watching her, she returned his gaze steadily, baring her very soul in that timeless glance, her fierce love for him glowing brightly in her eyes as she silently wished him strength and courage and victory.