Enchanted by Your Kisses

by Pamela Britton

  When he saw the fear in her eyes.

  He clamped down on the thought. He didn't care if she thought him the Devil of Dralock. Didn't she realize any desire he might have felt for her had faded upon learning of her duplicity?

  And yet, even with his pulse pounding in anger, he found himself saying, "I promise."

  She looked a bit reassured.

  He grabbed her arm again, ignoring her small gasp as he turned back to the fallen door, raised the lantern and stopped dead.

  If the main hall looked neglected and decayed, then the narrow hall leading to the servants' quarters looked positively tomblike. Spiderwebs stretched from floor to ceiling, a rat scurried across the hall.

  "I'm not going down there."

  He didn't blame her. Not even the militia would want to go down there. Damnation, but why hadn't he examined the interior of this place prior to bringing her here?

  Because he was in a hurry. Because he was angry with her. Because he didn't think, only reacted. And an angry man is an ineffective man, one who doesn't plan as thoroughly as he should. He should have known better than to ignore one of his primary rules.

  He would have to hold her in the main part of the house, he realized, although that presented more of an opportunity for her to escape, since they would be on the ground floor. He shrugged. It would have to do, even if it meant tying her to him all night. He tugged her back toward the front door.

  "Are we leaving?"

  "No," he gritted out.

  There were four doors off the main hall, and it was toward the one nearest them that he went. The evening air caused the webs above them to ripple. Nathan ignored them. A quick inspection of the door hinges revealed bronze patina and rotted metal, which had been responsible for the other door's downfall. The next one proved no better, although the one nearest the front of the house looked reasonably sound. He frowned, left with little choice but to give it a try, but when the door wouldn't open, he turned back to his captive to order her to stay.

  She was gone.

  He stared at the spot where she'd been standing. "What the—" Where had she gone?

  She's escaped, you fool.

  It shouldn't have surprised him, but it did.

  "Ariel!" he roared.

  But he knew she'd left. The evidence of her perfidy lay before him: ten tiny footprints led back to the front door.

  Little hellion.

  Ariel knew trying to escape with her hands still tied behind her back was the height of foolishness, but goodness, she'd had to try. He'd abducted her, for goodness sake. She still couldn't believe it.

  So she pressed on. Her feet hurt from the uneven ground beneath her, and branches slapped her in the face. Worse, she knew she made a horrible racket. Trevain would have to be deaf as Lord Sinclair not to hear her. But she had no choice but to keep going. She had to escape. The word was like a drumbeat in her ears. Escape. Escape. Escape.

  "Ariel!"

  She froze.

  Bullocks, bullocks, bullocks. He sounded right behind her.

  "Ariel!"

  She plunged on, not even looking where she went, just heeding the urge to run. Which was probably why she didn't realize the pond was so near. And why she didn't see it until it was too late. Frankly, she couldn't have planned her plunge into the icy water better if she'd tried. Like a child taking a summer dip, she tumbled in, the shoreline dropping away so abruptly, it felt like her head sank before her feet.

  Gracious heavens. Her head did sink before her feet.

  She gasped, bubbles rising up around her. Too late she realized she should have held her breath while she could. With no hands to paddle toward the surface, and her skirts tangling in her legs, the thought penetrated that she might drown.

  What a disappointment.

  Oddly enough, however, the thought didn't panic her, although a part of her realized that it should scare the life out of her. She'd heard tell that people sometimes saw their life flash before them at such moments. Ariel waited patiently for that to happen, but it didn't. Instead she thought about odd things, things like why was a butterfly called a butter fly? It didn't look like butter. And butter certainly didn't fly. And where exactly did all the flies go when it rained? They all just disappeared when drops started falling.

  And then to her great relief she heard another splash followed by a rush of bubbles as a body landed near her own.

  Nathan.

  Oh, ho, that annoying voice sang inside her head. When did he become Nathan again?

  When he became her last chance of rescue, that's when, she firmly answered.

  Arms clasped her waist, then propelled her to the surface. Their heads emerged at the same time, Ariel inhaling a deep, stagnant breath of air. Nathan held her that way for a long moment as she gasped in an out. Gracious. This must be what a fish felt like when it was taken out of water.

  Somehow he managed to pull them to safety, then up on the bank. Ariel shimmied further from the edge. Two arms clasped her from behind, tugging her to him.

  Well. As far as escapes go, this one was a rather dismal attempt. Of course, it was her first attempt ever, and so she supposed she shouldn't expect great things.

  She tried to move away from him, trying not to blush as she realized their positions. His legs straddled either side of her, his arms encircling her from behind. She wished he'd quit panting in her ear. Oddly enough, the feel of that breath as it caressed the shell of her flesh made her begin to tingle. She shot into a sitting position. No, no, no. She did not still desire him. She couldn't possibly. The man was a liar and a scoundrel.

  He'd kidnapped her!

  She tried to move away, but his arm tightened around her again. Masculine legs lay on either side of her, his warmth shielding her.

  It was then that she realized where her tied hands lay, or rather, what they rested against.

  They were, heavens, they were snug against his manhood.

  She blushed. Wiggled a bit to try and get away from him again, only to be pulled closer still.

  "Stop moving," he said.

  "Unhand me."

  A poor choice of words, given the location of her limbs. She looked at him over her shoulder.

  His silver eyes glittered with anger and something else, something she refused to identify. Besides, it couldn't really be lust, not after all they'd been through.

  "I think not, Lady Ariel," and his voice raked her with its anger. "You'll be fortunate if I ever let you out of my sight again." He moved away from her, keeping his hand on the crook of her arm.

  Ariel wheezed with relief at the loss of contact. That was better. "And just how long are you planning on holding me?"

  "As long as it takes to find the location of my brother."

  "And if my father can't help you?"

  He didn't answer, but she could feel the tension that resonated from his body. At that moment she forgot about male body parts, forgot about the cold chill that had begun to rack her body. For the first time she wondered what it would be like to lose one's brother. Would she not do whatever it took to save Phoebe? Granted, Phoebe was a cousin, but she felt like a sister nonetheless.

  She ducked to the side, tilting her head to stare back at him again. Their gazes met, his as cold as the lake he'd just retrieved her from, a lingering something floating in the depths of his eyes.

  Was it desperation? She thought perhaps it might be. And with the customary sympathy that always filled her when she saw someone or something in need, she found herself saying, "I'm sorry," before she admitted how ridiculous it was to apologize to one's captor, especially one who'd tried to use her in such a way.

  His gaze narrowed.

  "I'm sorry that captain stole your brother," she forged on, despite her mental castigation. "It must be awful not knowing where he is or even if he's alive."

  If she'd known the effect her words would have, she might have considered saying them earlier, for he pulled away from her, then jerked her to her feet.

  W
ithout a word he pointed her toward the brush, then propelled her toward the house.

  10

  A few minutes later they neared the house, but not as quickly as she would have liked. Gracious, but she was as wet as the bottom of a canoe. Worse, she had no change of clothing. She might well have frozen to death by night's end.

  "I don't supposed you thought to bring me a change of clothes?" and her teeth chattered with every word.

  He didn't say anything.

  "An extra coat for yourself?" One she could borrow?

  Silence again.

  "Perhaps some blankets?"

  "When we get inside."

  Well, at least there was that. And a fire. A nice, warm fire.

  They entered the house, Trevain pausing by the front door as he retrieved something. A bag of supplies, she noticed. One she hadn't seen before. He didn't even glance at her as he clutched the burlap bag in one hand, then grabbed her by the arm again, leading her through the front door and to the right. The discarded lantern sat near a doorway, the sudden light making her squint and blink away spots. Trevain let her go, stepping behind her to nudge her in the back toward a nearby room.

  It was a disaster, not that Ariel had expected it to look different from the rest of the house. Gloomy, dust-covered windows allowed muted moonlight to filter through one side. Bare walls that bore the outline of long-gone portraits surrounded the other three sides. No furniture looked to be in sight. Spiderwebs hung from a wood and iron chandelier with curved arms reaching up. Ariel wondered if it was a good or a bad thing that she couldn't see the webs' inhabitants creeping about. Probably a bad thing.

  "Here."

  She turned toward him, just in time to be hit full in the face by something, a something she couldn't catch with her hands as they were tied behind her back.

  "Thank you," she murmured, feeling sorely vexed by his oversight.

  He grumbled something under his breath, bent down to retrieve the blanket he'd tossed at her and said, "Turn."

  She turned. And all he did was touch her with his fingers. Jolts leaped up and down her arms, the same kind of static that danced through her veins during a particularly wild storm. She in-haled sharply. Gracious heaven above, she did still feel desire for him. What a nodcock. Obviously she enjoyed the company of men who threw her over. She sighed in impatience with herself.

  Nathan must have thought her sigh a gasp of pain, for he gentled his touch, then murmured soothingly, the words wafting across her ear and then her cheek. His breath was sweet, she realized. As if he'd just nibbled a piece of fruit.

  A final jerk on the ropes, and first one hand sprang free, then the other. He turned her toward him, rubbing her wrists.

  She really wished he wouldn't do that.

  She really, really wished it.

  But God had obviously decided she'd sinned one too many times, because Nathan kept touching her. Short of jerking her arms away, she was helpless to move. She'd be damned if she'd let him see how much his touch still affected her.

  "Might we start a fire?" she asked on a wheeze, hoping and praying he would take the hint and let her go.

  Silver eyes met her own, his face less ominous-looking of a sudden. "If I start a fire, it might alert the locals to our presence."

  "And that would be bad?"

  He didn't say anything, not that she'd expected him to. Nathan Trevain had grown good at conveying his thoughts with a single look in the past few hours. There was his you-are-nothing-but-a-bloody-blueblood look. And his be-quiet-or-I-shall-gag-you look. Right now he gave her a I-don't-care-if-your-arse-freezes-to-he-castle-walls look. She sighed, her breath a stream of white vapor. To think, she'd actually thought him her friend once upon a time, but she should have known once upon a times only existed in fairy tales.

  Just then a giant shiver racked her body.

  "Why are you shaking?"

  "Because I'm bloody cold," she answered.

  He frowned.

  "Truly, Mr. Trevain, I do believe I shall need a fire."

  "No fire."

  "Then I will need to remove this gown."

  "Fine," he snapped.

  She stiffened, another chill sending her muscles into spasms. "What do you mean, fine?"

  "Remove your dress."

  Her eyes must have bulged. "I beg your pardon?"

  He gave her a look of impatience. "You were the one who suggested it. Since you seem to be so thin-blooded, it looks to be a fine suggestion."

  Hoist with her own petar. But truly, she thought, as another chill racked her body, if she didn't do something fast, she would indeed freeze to death.

  "Very well, turn around, and I will disrobe."

  He gave her a look, one meant to question her integrity. "You will not try to escape if I turn my back?"

  "If I try and escape, you will find my dead blue body on the road in the morning."

  For an instant, such a brief instant that she thought she might have imagined it, a flash of amusement shone in his eyes. But of course, that couldn't be. Besides, he had turned around before she could be sure.

  "I'll need your help with the lacings beforehand."

  He turned back, and now his eyes had a very definite glimmer of impatience in them. "Give me your back."

  She did as asked, approaching such a state of discomfort that she would have shown him her legs if it meant getting out of the sodden dress. The chills came with more frequency now, so severe she clenched her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.

  "Please hu-hurry," she stuttered.

  His hands felt hot against her neck, and how that could be when he was just as wet as she was she had no idea, but just then she was tempted to press those hands all over her freezing-cold body.

  "You're trembling all over."

  "I kn-know," she answered.

  She felt his hands move lower, felt the dress begin to part.

  "Here," he said, turning.

  It was a sign of how cold she felt that she didn't even flinch when she felt his heated hands at the neck of her gown. Nor did she move when he pulled it off her shoulders. She closed her eyes. She was cold. So cold.

  He jerked the dress down.

  Her eyes sprang open. "What are you doing?"

  "Taking your dress off."

  "I can do it."

  "Can you?"

  She nodded, but Nathan noted her body shook so much, he doubted she even realized how cold she'd become. But he'd not lived with winter snows for most of his life not to know the signs of someone who had become too cold for her own good. How she had done it so quickly he had no idea.

  "Remove your petticoat. And your hoops," he ordered.

  "B-but—"

  "Do it."

  He turned his back again, hearing the rustle of the sodden fabric. Damnation, but women wore a lot of clothes.

  "Are you done?"

  "Y-yes," she said in a small voice.

  He turned back to her. She stood there shivering in nothing but her chemise and corset, her arms crossed in front of her as if he had magic vision that could see through fabric. Frankly, she shouldn't have been concerned about his seeing through the fabric; she should have worried that he could see every delectable contour of her body—which he could.

  He gritted his teeth, telling himself he didn't care that he could see the outline of her flesh. She was nothing to him. Nothing.

  But he still looked away as he removed his coat.

  "Wh—what are you d—doing?"

  "I'm going to warm you."

  She tried to move back, but she was so cold her legs buckled. Nathan caught her just before she fell, tugging her up against him. Her body felt like a wall of snow. Demme, but her temperature had dropped quickly.

  "Here," he said, pulling her to a wall. If they leaned up against it, they could use it to keep their backs from getting chilled by the musty breeze that blew through the room. She could hardly move now, so he scooped her up in his arms. She didn't even protest. Her wet hair slapped
against his arm, and even the silky strands felt cold.

  Setting her down gently, he then went for the blankets. She'd closed her eyes again, her alabaster skin pale as parchment. Bending down, he placed one blanket around her, then used the other to dry her hair. Her eyes didn't open. That concerned him.

  "Ariel."

  They still didn't open.

  "Ariel," he repeated, shaking her.

  "What?" she cried, eyes opening, those golden orbs glowing with irritation.

  He told himself he felt relief because she hadn't fallen into a cold sleep, not because of any concern. He wouldn't feel concern for a woman who'd deceived him as she had.

  Ah, but you deceived her too.

  And what did that matter? he argued. He, at least, did so for his brother. She had no reason other than that she had a treacherous heart, like the rest of her sex. Bloody hell, that he'd begun to like her still rankled like a sore thumb.

  "I merely wanted to insure that you had not expired," he said, when she continued to glare up at him.

  "I assure you, s-sir, had I expired, I w-would be haunting your from the g-grave by now."

  He ignored the threat. The chit was too cold for her own good. "Here," he said, jerking the blanket off her.

  She looked about to protest, but then her eyes widened when he plopped down next to her, covering them both with the blanket, but not before he pulled her into his arms. Damnation, but the wall behind them was cold, too. He shoved his arm between her back and the wood paneling.

  Foolish woman. She could die and ruin his whole kidnapping.

  Ah, but she feels good.

  So would opium, if you took too much of it, and it could kill you, too.

  But Ariel wouldn't kill him. She didn't have a killer's heart. Just a treacherous one, and a damn delectable body, one he found hard not to think about as he snuggled her next to his own.

  "You're so w-warm," she murmured.

  "Yes, and you are so cold," he answered.

  She nodded, but a few minutes later she wasn't shivering so violently. He pulled her closer still, the better to warm her, he told himself. She didn't protest, even slipped a hand between his arm and his side. Hell's bells. Any ardor he might have felt—and he told himself he didn't feel any—would have died an icy death at the feel of that cold, cold limb squeezed between his flesh.