Enchanted by Your Kisses

by Pamela Britton

"Because I do not wish to insult you."

  The smile spread. "Go ahead. Answer me. What do you think of me. Honestly."

  "Very well. I think you're a lying, cheating, traitorous bastard."

  His amusement abruptly faded. Not surprisingly. Her words would have had a dampening effect on most people's mood.

  "Why do you call me that?"

  She almost told him the truth. She almost opened her mouth and let fly the words, "Because you are a spy." But something stopped her at the last moment, some last drop of sanity that floated through her brain. "Because all men are that."

  He seemed to buy the words, though his eyes had narrowed. "Not all men."

  "No? Name me one man in my life who deserves my admiration."

  "Your father."

  She snorted. Actually snorted. Gracious, but she felt odd. "My father is the coldest man I've ever met. How he ended up with my mother I shall never know."

  "Why do you say that?"

  She shrugged, liking how relaxed her shoulders felt. She wiggled them again, almost closing her eyes. "Everyone knows how cold he is. At the Admiralty they call him Block of Ice Bettencourt."

  "So he does not speak much? He does not share with you any of the county's secrets?"

  Something nagged at the back of her brain, something insistent. "Oh, no. I'm lucky if I hear two words out of him when he deigns to see me. Pity, really. The secret of how he ties his cravat will go with him to the grave." When she focused on him again, she noticed he was smiling. How odd, for she couldn't remember him ever smiling so, so. . .sincerely.

  "Has he ever told you what is in that hidden room of his?"

  She found herself nodding before she realized what it was she did. A buzzing had begun in her head.

  "What is it?"

  She shrugged. Something is most odd, Ariel. The voice rang out so clearly in her head, she found herself looking around for the speaker.

  "Ariel?"

  She had a hard time focusing. An even harder time remembering his question.

  "What is in that room?"

  She blinked, her eyes narrowing sluggishly. "You drugged me."

  "I did," he admitted.

  "Why?" she slurred.

  "I need information from you. This seemed the most expedient way of getting it."

  She sat up, knowing her upper body swayed but helpless to stop it. "Hmph. What a sterling idea. I'm surprised you did not try that earlier. Would that I had thought of it."

  "And why would you want to drug me?"

  "Because you," she pointed at one of the two Nathan Trevains, "are a spy."

  She thought she saw him stiffen, thought he might have risen half out of his chair, but she couldn't be sure. Things had grown rather fuzzy of late.

  "How do you know who I am?"

  She began to lean to one side. He shot out of his seat before she fell.

  "Ariel, answer me. How do you know?"

  "Your ring." She smiled triumphantly. "And the way you responded to the note I sent you—Helios."

  He released her. She immediately fell over, her upper body landing on the arm of the couch. She wanted to close her eyes. Just for a second. But he wouldn't let her.

  "Damnation," she thought she heard him murmur. But then he came to her again, grabbing her arms. "Tell me how to get into your father's private room."

  So that was what he wanted. Access to the hidden room off her father's office. How. . .funny.

  "Ariel."

  "Just a little bit of sleep," she murmured. "That is all I need. Then I will deal with you and your devious, tasty drugs later."

  "Ariel!"

  She closed her eyes and was firmly, blessedly, asleep.

  8

  "What have you done to me?" Lady Ariel D'Archer asked nearly two hours later. Her hands were tied to the headboard of her bed in her father's town home.

  Nathan stared down at her. He sat in an armchair next to her bed, a comfortable fire snapping to his left, darkened window with frilly rose-colored drapes to his right. He'd rather liked the sight of her lying there earlier, though he knew he should not have. He'd had ample opportunity to study her while she slept, ample time to admire her perfection as he reclined next to her bed. Her hair had lain beneath her like black, satin ribbons. Dark lashes inky smudges against alabaster skin. Her face relaxed such as he'd never seen before. Now her eyes glowed with inner fire as they stared up at him. Cheeks that had looked pale moments before were filled with color. His manhood stirred. That she was his enemy and a woman as deceitful as the woman who'd given him his scar deterred his lust not a whit. He'd begun to realize that he would always want Ariel D'Archer, even as he would firmly never allow himself to have such a conniving woman.

  "Well?" she demanded again.

  "Why, nothing but bring you up to this room, my dear." She tried to sit up, but the ropes he'd used wouldn't let her. "Do not try to struggle, for it will do you no good."

  "Then I'll scream."

  "No one will hear you. I've given your servants an unexpected night off. No doubt they think we mean to have a secret tryst. A good number of them watched me carry you up here, you see."

  "You bastard."

  "Aye."

  "I feel like a fool for not realizing sooner what depths you would sink to."

  "That is a bit heavy-handed coming from a woman equally capable of deceit."

  "It was nothing less than you deserved."

  "And just why did you continue to see me, knowing who I am?"

  "I was trying to find out what you were after. Plus, after learning that your offer of friendship was nothing but a sham, I was only too willing to turn the table on you."

  She stared up at him, her eyes filled with accusation and hurt. He looked away, telling himself he should not feel guilty. After all, she was only too willing to play a game of deception, too. It only served to confirm what he'd always known. She might have been beautiful, but she had a traitorous heart, like the rest of her sex.

  "Well. Do you deny that you were going to use me?"

  He looked back at her. "No," he said firmly.

  She lifted her chin. "'Tis as I thought," he heard her murmur as if there was a part of her that had hoped he'd befriended her out of kindness.

  He almost told her that he had not time for kindness. But he held his tongue, his eyes firmly fixed on the emotions crossing her face. Sadness. Anger. Disappointment.

  "So, now that we know where we both stand, would you mind untying me?"

  "I would mind very much, especially since I have no doubt you will try to escape."

  "Bastard," she repeated.

  He smiled. "No, just cautious."

  She tested the strength of the ropes, clearly uncomfortable with his stare and the bonds. "What do you plan to do with me?"

  He forced himself to concentrate. It was the eyes. Those damn, mysterious gypsy eyes. With her staring up at him while lying supine the bed, he suddenly felt rather sordid. "That depends on you."

  Her gold eyes narrowed. "How so?"

  "If you cooperate, I shall be out of your life within the hour. If, however, you prove to be uncooperative, I shall be forced to use more drastic measures."

  "And what is it you want?"

  "Information."

  She gave him a look of frustration. "As I recall, but I do not see how what is in that room could be of help."

  "Let me decide that."

  "And if I do not tell you?"

  "I will not go easy on you."

  "What will you do, hold me hostage?"

  "Oh, I don't know if I need go that far, but it is a fascinating possibility."

  She compressed her lips. "Cad. Scoundrel. Blackguard."

  "Thank you."

  "In case you are too much of a nodcock to understand, that was not a compliment."

  He shrugged, watching with fascination as her face filled with even more angry color.

  "You should be shot."

  "Indeed? Then pray God you shoot me soon, for
I do not think I can take much more of your prattle."

  "Why, you—"

  "Silence," he ordered.

  To his surprise, her mouth clamped closed.

  "Tell me how to get into your father's room."

  She tilted her chin up. "No."

  He lifted black brows. "You would deny me?"

  "I will do whatever it takes to thwart you."

  "Then you will pay the price."

  He saw her eyes widen as he slowly stood up. Good, perhaps he wouldn't need to proceed any further. But she remained stubbornly, obstinately silent as he leaned over the bed. He stood so close he could smell her sensuous, feminine scent.

  "Stay back," she ordered.

  "No."

  She warned him away with a glare. "I will not let you do whatever it is you think to do."

  "Do you think yourself strong enough to stop me?" he asked with a mocking smile.

  "I shall certainly try."

  "Then try."

  Her eyes widened as he reached for her shoulders. He made quick work of the rope, holding it in his hands when he was finished.

  She must have thought he was going to strangle her with it, for she said, "No," trying to twist away.

  He wouldn't let her, his hands going to either side of her body. She'd begun to pant, the motion making her breasts rise and fall enticingly. He tried to ignore the sight, but it proved to be impossible.

  "Tell me how to get into the room," he ordered again, glancing down before looking up again. God, but it took an effort to do so. He wanted to lean closer to her. To kiss those plump lips. To stroke her silky flesh.

  "I will not."

  "Then pay the price." He saw her eyes widen, heard her yelp just before he reached his hands around her waist and slung her over his shoulder.

  "What are you doing?" she screeched, as her chest hit his shoulder. She beat his back with her fists.

  "I am kidnapping you."

  Oddly enough, he felt her relax into his shoulder before stiffening again, "Kidnapping!"

  He turned to the door. Obviously she'd thought him about to rape her. But he would never do something so deplorable. Still, touching her as he did now, her breasts snug against his shoulder, her rear high in the air, did things to him that he truly wished not to think about.

  "Yes, kidnapping, for if you will not allow me access to the room, or at the very least tell me what is in there, I am left with little choice but to blackmail your father for the information I need."

  "Blackmail?" she cried.

  "Do you have trouble with your ears?" he asked, shifting her on his shoulder as he exited the room. "Or do you always repeat words back to your captors?"

  "Put me down," she ordered, beginning to struggle again. "I do not want you to be my captor."

  "That is too bad, my lady." He wasn't sure which way to turn once he left the room. Right or left? Right, he decided.

  "Let me down, I said. I can walk."

  "I will put you down if you tell me what I wish to know."

  "Fine, then I'll tell you."

  Immediately he swung her off his shoulder. Her breath omphed out of her as she hit her feet. Truth be told, he was relieved to do so. Bloody hell but she enticed him, especially when she looked like she did now, her hair tumbling about her in wild, gypsylike disarray. Her eyes flashed fire; her stance was both proud and challenging.

  He loved a good challenge. Frankly, he was glad the charade was over. The idea of pretending to befriend her had grown distasteful over the past few days. Now he could do battle as he preferred. Head to head.

  "I will tell you how to get into the room, but I will do no more than that."

  "Very well."

  "And you must promise to let me go afterward."

  He narrowed his eyes before saying, "I promise."

  She didn't look like she believed him—not surprising, given the events of the past few days.

  "Follow me," she said, heading toward the door.

  He did as ordered, for some reason amused by her demeanor. She didn't act like a captive. Then again, had he really expected her to?

  He followed her down a flight of stairs. The servants had left candles glowing in silver wall sconces. No doubt her staff expected the two of them to take their pleasure and leave. He frowned upon realizing Lady D'Archer's clandestine meeting would be all over town by the morning, not that he should care.

  He took the last step, following her toward her father's office.

  But he did care.

  Ridiculous. After tonight he would leave her, and with any luck, England, with his brother in hand. For the first time in months he felt himself grow optimistic. His excitement only increased when she lifted a candle from a sconce and entered her father's study.

  "Turn around."

  "Whatever for?"

  "I do not want you to see."

  "See what?"

  "How I do this."

  He crossed his arms, his excitement waning in the face of her ridiculous request. "My lady, perhaps you do not realize this, but you are hardly in a position to order me about. Now, open the door."

  "Turn around, I said," she stubbornly repeated.

  "Open the door!" he roared.

  She jumped, actually jumped, the candle flickering with the motion. He saw her lips tighten, saw her eyes narrow before she crossed to the far wall, opened the glass cover of a grandfather clock, then moved the hands to twelve o'clock.

  And just like that it was done.

  He heard a click, a snick, and then realized she pushed against the wall as though it was no more than a door. Elation filled him as her candle illuminated a room beyond.

  "Move aside," he ordered.

  She did as asked.

  Nathan moved to take her place. But he felt an instant surge of shock that turned into a bellow of rage at what he saw.

  Wine.

  Hundreds of bottles of wine.

  "Now, you didn't really think my father would keep important papers in his home, did you?"

  He turned back to her, for the first time understanding what it meant to see red.

  That was, of course, exactly what he'd thought.

  A half-hour later, Ariel had grown impatient with his search.

  "I tell you, 'tis just wine."

  It wouldn't be so bad, waiting for him to realize the truth, but he'd tied her hands behind her back, and her upper body was wrapped to the back of her father's chair like a sacrificial offering. It wouldn't have been so bad except that the chair was a great, big leather monstrosity that engulfed her and smelled of tallow and lemons. A most unfortunate combination. Truly, if she'd hated Nathan Trevain before, she absolutely despised him now. The cad was worse than Archie. At least Archie hadn't treated her like a Bastille prisoner.

  "They must be in here," she heard him mumble.

  She wished the bloody chair would move, but she'd tried rocking it away from her father's oak desk at least twenty times.

  "If you tell me what it is you're looking for, perhaps I can help." She tried to loosen her bonds again, but to no avail. Her hands were snug between her back and the chair. "I do, after all, live here when my father is in town."

  His head poked out of the cellar. There was a cobweb in his black hair. She let it stay there out of spite.

  "I doubt you can help," he answered.

  "Then why did you involve me in the first place?" she asked with a huff.

  He shrugged. "I conjectured the best way to discover what was in this room was to seduce the information out of you."

  "Seduce?" She blasted him with a glare. "And what did you hope to do? Kiss me senseless before asking how to get in there?" She motioned to the room with her head.

  "Something like that."

  She snorted. "Men. They think women's heads can be turned by pretty words and passionate kisses."

  "I haven't heard you object to any of my kisses yet."

  "No, but then I was acting for a good portion of the time we were together."
>
  It wasn't true, but he must not have realized how much his touch affected her. He shot her a black look before turning back to the cellar.

  "They are not in there."

  "So you say."

  She sighed with impatience, her hands beginning to go numb. The bloody chair was uncomfortable when one was tied in such a position. "Why don't you tell me what it is you are looking for," she repeated plaintively. "Gracious, we could be here all night at this rate."

  He stuck his head out again. Another cobweb had joined the first one. Good. His body emerged, too, his hands dusty with cellar dust. She caught a whiff of it and fought the urge to sneeze. He shook the filth off his fingers, some of it alighting on his clothes. He still wore his coat, only now she knew why he'd dressed in black. Obviously he skulked about houses quite a bit.

  The realization had her narrowing her eyes. Fiend. Miscreant. She would see him captured for his crimes. Somehow. Some way.

  "I am looking for my brother," he finally said.

  She lifted a brow. "I assure you, sir, your brother is not inside my father's cellar."

  This time it was his turn to give her a sarcastic look. "Obviously. I am searching for papers that might tell me where he is."

  "In there?" she asked, lifting her brows in disbelief. "What makes you think my father would keep those sorts of documents in a room at his private residence?"

  "Because they are not at his office at the Admiralty."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I have searched."

  "You broke into the Admiralty?"

  "Indeed."

  Heavens, that took courage. Silly ninny, Ariel. Only a traitor would do such a thing. You should not think a traitor's actions courageous.

  "And what sort of documents would these be?" she asked.

  He stepped further out of the cellar, the spiderwebs fluttering about him like Medusa's snakes. "Anything that might tell me what ship my brother is captive on."

  "He was taken aboard a ship?"

  "Yes, my lady, by your British navy."

  She felt a stab of surprise followed by dismay. His brother had been pressed into service. Aye, she knew it happened. Often times she'd wondered what fate those men suffered. She'd wondered about their families, their friends, wondering if captives were allowed any contact with their loved ones back home. The thoughts had made her miserable, especially since it was her father who headed the Admiralty.