Conspiracy of Hearts

by Helen Dickson

  Without ceremony Thomas’s mouth clamped down on to Serena’s and she quivered, the heat of his lips searing her own. Fighting to retain her sanity, to quell the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, with chilling reason and her body rigid, Serena told herself this was wrong. Thomas should not be doing this to her. Hovering above her face, his eyes were heavy with desire, his mouth slack and insistent. His breathing became ragged as his embrace tightened around her, his breath fanning foul liquor fumes over her face. Suddenly it was an ugly face she saw, one that disgusted her.

  Sensing her withdrawal, Thomas raised his bewildered gaze. ‘Don’t tease, Serena—don’t be coy,’ he said with mounting impatience when he sensed her lack of response. ‘There’s nothing to fear, my pretty. No one will see. You’re quite safe.’ Once again his mouth clamped over her moist lips, his hands moving greedily over her body, and Serena was shocked to feel them fumbling at the intimate parts no other hands had touched but her own.

  Although she was inexperienced, she could tell Thomas’s words were glibly spoken, coming from the lips of a practised seducer. Immediately she pulled back, her sanity, which had momentarily left her in the heat and excitement of the moment, returning, triggering her anger. Pushing against his chest when his fingers boldly began to fumble with the laces of her dress, cupping and squeezing her breasts, she stepped back as though he had struck her.

  ‘Stop it. Let me go.’

  Thomas’s face twisted angrily, the handsome mouth which Serena had so recently yearned to feel on hers becoming a savage leer of pure evil. ‘Damn you for being a temptress. You want me, I know it, and I shall have you.’

  ‘No,’ she cried but, as his mouth ground down on to hers once more, her cries of outrage were smothered. His strength overpowered her. Feeling his arousal pressed hard against her thigh, she was overwhelmed with horror and disgust at the violation he intended, without decency or tenderness. She retaliated by jerking away from him and swinging her arm with a cry of unleashed fury.

  Thomas lifted his head at the same moment that she hurled her clenched fist into his belly, finding it hard to believe such a hard punch could have been thrown by such a winsome and fragile young woman.

  ‘How dare you?’ Serena shrieked accusingly. ‘If you think I’m game for a quick tumble in the grass, then you’ve lost your wits, Thomas Blackwell.’

  Intent on having his pleasure and determined not to be cheated out of it, Thomas grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him once more.

  ‘So you want to play it rough, do you?’ he hissed, his features contorted with cruelty. ‘I can be as rough as you want me to be, you little hellcat,’ and he lunged for her again, his face ugly now and twisted with lust, filling Serena’s vision so that she could see nothing else.

  Dreadful visions of what her possible fate might be flew through her mind. What a fool she’d been. How could she have imagined for one minute that she was in love with this crazed beast, intent only on his own pleasure? The passion, which had been so intense that she had been unable to think of little else, withered and died. Her year-long infatuation with Thomas Blackwell was over. Now she felt only loathing and disgust—and anger directed against herself for foolishly wasting her time dreaming of him.

  Undaunted and determined to free herself, driven by self-preservation, she reacted violently, struggling and twisting in a frenzied effort to escape as her rage peaked. Hearing the rending of the silk ruching that trimmed the neck of her bodice, she felt the cold air on her exposed body. One glimpse of the creamy flesh that swelled out of her bodice seemed to incite Thomas even more. Driven by some kind of demon inside her Serena lashed out, kicking his shins like a wild thing, clawing and raking her fingernails down his cheek which drew streaks of blood.

  With cold sweat drenching her body, Serena managed to thrust herself away from him as, with a grunt of pain, Thomas raised a hand to his injured cheek. Unable to conceal her loathing, Serena glared at him with a challenging gaze, daring him to attack her again, her fists clenched and ready to strike if he made a move towards her.

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me again, you vile wretch,’ she fumed with unladylike vehemence, in the grip of an ice-cold, venomous rage, unable to still the shaking in her limbs. ‘Find someone more pliant to lust after. You disgust me, you clumsy oaf, with your clawing hands and foul breath.’

  ‘Disgust! Ha!’ Thomas roared with a savage snarl, his face having turned a mottled red. Tiny droplets of blood gleamed and trickled down his lacerated cheek to the small white ruff circling his neck. ‘It wasn’t disgust that brought you to the village in search of me like a bitch on heat, was it? Your behaviour is hardly in keeping with the pious little virgin you profess to be.’

  ‘Better to remain a virgin and die an old spinster than to acquaint myself with the likes of you,’ Serena flared in outrage.

  Seeing red, Thomas advanced menacingly towards her once more. ‘Shut your mouth, you hellcat—you dirty little high-minded Papist bitch,’ he snarled in a flying rage, raising his hand to cuff her.

  Surprised by what he was witnessing, Kit, the marquess of Thurlow, Lord Christopher Brodie—just two of his many titles—who was on his way to Dunedin Hall accompanied by his servant Robin, quickly dismounted. Having seen a flurry of hair, petticoats and creamy flesh, and heard much of what was taking place between these two, he had formed his own conclusion as to what was happening.

  Kit had not intervened sooner because he thought the young lady seemed well able to take care of herself, but when he saw the man raise his fist to strike her he was impelled to act. If there was one thing he had been taught from an early age it was to respect the opposite gender, and this show of brutality against such a dainty wench was too much to ignore. Drawing his sword, he was diverted when his eyes settled momentarily on the face of the woman—a face of unforgettable beauty.

  It was white, as white as alabaster in the gathering gloom, with eyes glittering like darting chips of ice, and her utter contempt for the man who intended to violate her was manifest in their translucent depths. Her lips were clamped together in a savage line, her small chin set in forceful determination, and the assertive and compelling steeliness in her expression told Kit that had she been in possession of a dagger, she would have had no qualms about thrusting it into the pulsating centre of her aggressor’s heart.

  ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ Kit said, his tone deadly calm. ‘It would be a pity to mar a face of such exquisite beauty—and if you do, it will cost you your life.’

  Unprepared for the interruption, Thomas gave an enraged curse and spun around in his fury, but then he felt the cold and hungry tongue of a rapier pressed threateningly against the soft flesh of his neck. He stared askance at the black garbed figure at the other end of the steel blade, seeing the wicked pale blue light that danced along its length, and he felt his skin prickle and the hairs at the back of his neck stand up on recognition of the intruder, who commanded both his own and Serena’s attention with his awesome presence.

  ‘So, you remember me, Blackwell—even though we are a long way from the Netherlands?’ The tone was sardonic, the faint smile sneering.

  Beginning to sweat profusely, his face darkening to an apoplectic crimson, Thomas continued to gape as his sluggish mind fought to grasp more clearly what was happening. Respectful of the threatening blade, he felt its point already penetrating his flesh and a slow trickle of warm blood begin to run down his neck and mingle with that from his torn cheek. He stood stock-still, eyeing warily the man who was taller than himself, whose eyes bore into his like dagger thrusts.

  ‘You seem surprised,’ Kit remarked, speaking lightly, but his mildly amused smile and cold dark stare did not waver from the face of the man opposite, who was eyeing him with a profound hatred. ‘What’s the matter? Have I sprouted horns? I’ve never seen you sweat so much, Blackwell. It does not surprise me to find you up to your old tricks. Violating maids appears to be your favourite pastime—but it seems to me that
you annoy this particular lady…that your attentions are unwelcome.’

  ‘And your interference in a matter that is none of your concern I find most unwelcome. Although it’s hardly surprising you come to the maid’s defence, considering the comradeship that exists between yourself and certain members of the Catholic hierarchy,’ Thomas sneered with derision, angered at finding himself at a disadvantage, and knowing he faced an experienced soldier who did not flinch under adversity.

  To begin with, Brodie set Thomas on edge. He was taller than Thomas, with shoulders as broad. The man was also extremely wealthy and a smooth sort, being close to the king and his courtiers, although the fact that he could count many Catholic noblemen as his close friends—among them Sir Everard Digby and that other Catholic magnate, Sir Thomas Tresham—suggested to Thomas that Kit had Catholic sympathies himself.

  To make matters worse, Brodie’s equestrian skills had attracted the eye of many a commander in the Low Countries, and he had proved his military prowess in combat many times. His reputation with both sword and pistol was an enviable and well-known fact, and Thomas had neither the means nor the clarity of mind to test it just then. But most chilling of all was the fact that Kit Brodie was also the man responsible for having Thomas and his regiment recalled from the Netherlands in disgrace—which was a score he had yet to settle.

  ‘And you believe that because the lady does not share your faith that it gives you the right to violate her?’ Kit’s lips curled with contempt. ‘I think it must have slipped your mind that you are no longer fighting the Spanish in the Netherlands,’ he said with heavy sarcasm. ‘The lady is right, Blackwell. You are even more of a lecherous swine than I took you for. It is my opinion that you should have been hanged for your violation and massacre of those unfortunate women at the convent near Ghent.’

  ‘You remember too much, Brodie,’ growled Thomas.

  ‘Some things are unable to be forgotten, Blackwell. That is one of them. However,’ Kit said with a savage taunt and a look to indicate the still bleeding scratches on his face, ‘I think enough bloodletting has been done for one day, so you have a reprieve. At least the lady has left you a momento to remember her by—which is more than can be said of the unfortunate women you so brutally murdered.’

  Kit moved back and held his weapon aloft as Thomas tried to shake the cobwebs from his brain. Feeling the blade relinquish its position on his flesh, Thomas took a desperate, threatening step forward, at which Kit quickly wielded his sword once more, the dark wings of his eyebrows snapping together, the hard gleam in his eyes becoming brittle and his mouth tightening into a line of aggravation.

  ‘Have a care, Blackwell. Do not force my hand.’ Kit’s voice was like steel, his expression the same, and Thomas checked himself, knowing that Brodie was a man who brooked no argument from anyone.

  ‘You find me at a disadvantage, Brodie,’ growled Thomas, breathing heavily and holding his arms out from his sides to indicate he did not carry a sword. ‘As you see, I am without my weapon so I cannot defend myself. But the next time we meet you will not be so fortunate. You will discover I am as skilled with the sword as you purportedly are.’

  Kit’s cold gaze travelled over Thomas with contempt before settling on the side of his face that was dark with blood. ‘I shall look forward to it. Now—be on your way and have your face tended before you bleed to death before my eyes.’

  Thomas’s face was set in lines of violent, menacing rage, his gaze going beyond Kit to Serena, whose eyes were smouldering with unsuppressed hostility. With her colouring and snapping eyes she resembled a wild vixen, and did nothing to conceal her newfound hatred and revulsion for him. Drawing his upper lip into a snarl, his eyes settled on her pale features with cruel contempt.

  ‘I’ll make the Papist bitch sorry she ever drew breath. I swear I’ll find her.’

  ‘Then take care, Blackwell, lest she finds you first,’ scoffed Kit, his chiding laughter mocking the other. ‘After what my eyes have just witnessed between the two of you, you may not fare so well the next time either. The lady has clearly taken her measure of you and appears to have quite a temper.’

  ‘I’ll not give the spitting she-cat another chance to sink her claws into me.’ Thomas’s eyes settled once more on Kit, the cords of his neck standing out quivering and tense. ‘I have a score to settle with you both. I shall have my revenge for what you have done to me this day—and before that, Brodie. Our paths are destined to cross again, so prepare yourself for when they do. I will give you no quarter.’

  As he strode away, hatred nestled like a tiger in Thomas Blackwell’s heart. Time would tell if Brodie was all his compatriots extolled him to be, when he had reaped his revenge and crushed Kit beneath his heel.

  Thomas was determined to prove ruthless in his ambition to destroy both Lord Brodie and Serena Carberry, and to gain that end he would slander and scheme without the least regard for the truth. Unbeknown to him just then, an event was about to occur that would rock England with its infamy and would assist him greatly in his efforts. His grievance against them would not be assuaged until they were dead.

  Chapter Two

  Serena looked at her rescuer’s visage, seeing that this was no lust-crazed beast but a strikingly handsome man with aristocratic features, hair and eyes as black as jet and the lean, hungry look of a hawk. The elegance of his attire and accompanying servant told her he was a gentleman.

  However, the brutish treatment she had just undergone ignited all the fires of rage which she unfairly directed at this stranger. He appeared to find the whole incident highly entertaining and to take an infuriating delight in her sorry plight yet, if Serena had paused to consider, he had just saved her from an ordeal so terrible she could never have imagined it.

  The disquieting, contemplative smile gave her no assurance that her treatment at this stranger’s hands would be any better, and all she could think of at that moment was that he had borne witness to her humiliation. It was this that penetrated her paralysed thoughts and she hated him for it. It was to form a tempestuous foundation to their future acquaintance—one that might have been so very different had they met in more conventional circumstances.

  Her pride seared, with elbows akimbo and her fingers drumming impatiently on her waist, Serena flung her hair back from her face, sending it spilling down her back, and glared into the black, humour-filled eyes sweeping over her with a rakish gleam.

  ‘Well?’ she snapped irritably, treating Kit as if he was somehow responsible for what had happened. ‘What are you gawping and grinning at? Is it your intention to finish what Thomas Blackwell began?’

  Unperturbed by her anger, Kit laughed. ‘If you believe that, I can only assume that the fiery colour of your hair has baked your brain.’

  ‘I would have sent him on his way without your intervention—and you can expect much of the same if you dare come any closer. I have a care for my virtue and am particularly choosy who I surrender it to.’

  Kit chuckled. The fire-spitting green eyes seared right through him as he raked her with a brazen gaze, amazed by her spirit. At first sight he had thought her too slender and fragile for such a furious onslaught but, after seeing her in action, it was clear there was nothing timid or docile about this young woman. Kit was convinced that she would have defended her virtue until her last breath was drawn.

  ‘I don’t doubt it, and you are right, you were doing splendidly without my intervention. Blackwell’s face will smart for a month and he will bear the marks of his encounter with you for a good deal longer.’

  ‘For ever, I hope,’ Serena said heatedly, dabbing at a nasty scratch on her wrist with a handkerchief.

  Kit’s lips twitched with ill-suppressed amusement, his gaze lightly caressing her face. ‘The poor man must be in torment at being cheated out of what he intended. The glare you gave him would have shrivelled the pride and the passion of any man.’

  ‘And you would do well to remember it,’ she snapped, fired up with ire, her e
yes flying to his brazen and overconfident smile.

  ‘You are much too fragile to get the better of a man of Blackwell’s size and strength,’ Kit chided. ‘I doubt you would have the stamina to oppose him for long. Had I not come along when I did, you would have been ravished most cruelly.’

  Serena ignored the fact that his words held some element of truth. ‘Fragile! Sir, I am more resourceful than you give me credit for, not some meek, simpering milksop. What I lack in strength I make up for in agility—so, if you value your looks, I advise you to keep your distance.’

  Kit could only marvel at her tenacity. His eyes glowed as he gave her a lazy smile, realising that both her dignity and pride had been mightily bruised. ‘You, dear lady, are a veritable tigress. But you have judged me before I can voice a plea—and unfairly, too. Rest assured that I am not in the habit of taking that which is not freely given,’ he said, his voice soft and deeply resonant, grinning leisurely as his perusal swept slowly over her delectable form, liking what he saw.

  Her figure was slender, her features fine and soft, and yet he had borne witness to the fact that she wasn’t nearly as fragile and delicate as suggested. There was also a proud courage in the way she had leapt to defend her honour. She was a firebrand, and he could easily understand how she had captured the salacious attention of Thomas Blackwell, who had been left with more than a little wounded pride.

  This young woman was in possession of a tempestuous will, and Kit could be forgiven for taking her for a gypsy wench—with her tumbling auburn hair and flashing eyes. Looking at her with heightened interest, he noted that her attire proclaimed her to be the daughter of a gentleman. If so, he was curious as to the circumstances that had brought her to this place alone to be set upon by Thomas Blackwell. Had she enticed him, and how well did she know her tormentor?