She nodded. "I do not know either." She didn't look at him anymore; indeed, her expression had grown rather sad. "My mother is buried upon that hill. Father's family refused to let him bury her in her rightful plot. He could have gone against their wishes, he often says, but at the time he was too distraught." She grew silent for a moment. "He must have loved her very much. Sometimes I wonder if my father and I would be friends if my mother were still around. Do you suppose that is wrong of me? I mean, a daughter should love her father no matter how he treats her, isn't that true?"
The strangest urge filled him then, one that confused him with its intensity. She looked so earnest, yet so genuinely sad he wanted to lift his hand, wanted to place it against her cheek.
"Do you?" she repeated, her eyes never having left his own
"No. I do not think it's wrong."
"Thank you." She straightened a bit. "They still hate her, you know."
"Who?" he found himself asking.
"My mother. Society transferred that hate to me when I was ruined, I think. People think me just like her. Blood tells and all that."
Indeed they had. Nathan knew it. Worse, he'd believed it, too, when he first met her. Only now he wasn't so sure.
"People hate things that are different," he answered.
"Yes, they do." She took a deep breath, clutching the hem of her dress. "Well, enough of this. The sooner we arrive, the sooner you might locate your brother."
Her words took him by surprise. Why, it almost sounded like she wanted to help him.
"I know the location of my father's secret safe, you know." She smiled up at him impishly. "Indeed, I suppose I shouldn't tell you, but I'm feeling rather charitable right now."
He felt stunned by her revelation. "You know?"
She nodded.
"And you will tell me?"
She nodded again, her smile growing, and Lady D'Archer with a smile on her face, a slight breeze suddenly kicking up and tossing her curls around her face, was a sight Nathan knew he would never forget.
"I did a great deal of thinking while I was tied to that tree. Truly, there was not much else to do." Her expression turned wry. "But it was while beneath that tree that I came to a conclusion. You need to find your brother and quickly. On the other hand, I want to be released and quickly. It seems the most expedient way to solve both our problems is for me to help you."
He felt his mouth drop open.
"Only you must promise to release me should you find the information you need."
Was this a ploy? A trick to get him to lower his guard? He couldn't tell, but he found himself saying, "I promise," nonetheless.
"Good." She turned toward her home. "Shall we go?"
Nathan blinked, amazed by the sudden turn of events.
Don't let her fool you, Nathan. Remember what happened the last time you trusted a woman.
He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to concentrate, to remember his mission. She might appear kind now, but she was still the enemy.
One that was every bit as capable of betraying him as the woman who'd given him his scar had been.
They approached the house quickly, nary a servant about, no doubt because only a few of the staff had been left behind to care for the place. Ariel supposed that should distress her a good bit, but now that she'd decided to help Nathan—for his brother's sake—she truly didn't mind. She was too grateful to be home. At last.
"This was my mother's favorite room," she said, opening the door of the solarium. Thankfully, it was unlocked, although she doubted that would have stopped Mr. Trevain. A small hand rake lay on the bench, a pail of water nearby. The dank odor of freshly turned earth filled her nostrils, as well as the pungent scent of the flowers that grew within the glass building.
"Follow me," she said, motioning with her hand, touching favorite plants as she passed. A tea rose there, a lily here. All cherished, for they grew by her hand now.
They turned toward the oak door, hoping it, too, was unlocked. The servants frequently exited the house by this means. A sigh of relief escaped Ariel as the handle turned. Air from inside the house cooled her face. The view of the room beyond almost brought tears to her eyes. The Green Room. Her favorite. A room in which she'd spent many a day, contemplating her downfall.
Tall windows that overlooked the front of the property. Green and and white decor. Little touches that she'd added over the years such as a miniature portrait of her mother, which graced the fireplace mantel.
She sighed nostalgically, pushing the door wide and inhaling a deep breath of the rose potpourri she made, the smell so potent that it seemed as if a rosebush grew nearby.
"What is that stink?"
Ariel stiffened. "The pits of your arms, no doubt." She glanced back at him.
He'd scrunched his brows together, murmuring something about her armpits. Ariel ignored him. She was home. And not even he could spoil her mood.
Leading him forward, she kept to the part of the floor not covered by a green and beige rug, a childhood habit that she still adhered to.
You make noise walking on the hardwood floor.
And you will clean up your mess should you track in mud from the solarium.
She glanced back in time to see him glance down. As expected, large black prints marked his progress through the room. She stopped. Pointed. "Ooo. Just look what you've done."
The look on his face was rather sardonic. "Beg pardon, my lady. Next time I kidnap a woman, I will be sure to wipe my feet."
"I'm sure our servants would appreciate that."
He bowed mockingly. "Whatever it takes to please my lady."
She rolled her eyes, turned back to the room, then a moment later pushed another door wide.
John, a footmen, just about came out of his shoes. "My lady," he cried, his hands clenched to his chest, the rag he had carried fluttering to the ground like a lady's favor.
Ariel smiled, though she knew she must look a sight, with her wild, untamed hair and wrinkled burgundy gown. "John, I'm so sorry, I did not mean to startle you."
"You didn't, my lady." He frowned. "Well, you did, but I didn't expect to see you coming out of that room. When did you arrive?"
An impertinent question, one many mistresses would chastise a servant for asking, but not Ariel. The servants at Bettenshire were some of her few friends, and most of them had known her since childhood.
"We've only just arrived, John. Our, er, coach broke down on the lane. My companion and I walked the last few miles to the estate."
"Walked!"
She nodded, motioning Nathan forward. "This is Mr. Nathan Trevain, my fiancé."
The lie slipped off her tongue easily, Ariel having decided there was no reason to give the servants more fodder for gossip than necessary. And she'd dare say being accompanied by one's fiancé was not as bad as being accompanied by one's love, which is what the servants would inevitably think.
"Your fiancé," John said, surprise plainly evident. "Then congratulations are in order. We all knew it was only a matter of time before someone realized you're a prize worth plucking." He smiled at Nathan.
Ariel's own smile faltered. "Ah, thank you, John. Now, if you will excuse us, I'd like to show Mr. Trevain to his room."
"I can do that, my lady."
"No, no," she quickly answered. "I will do it." Truly, what she wanted to do was flee. How mortifying. The servants felt sorry for her. She'd never known.
"Should I send someone after the coach?"
"Er. . .ah. . .no. We've. . .ah. . .already sent someone after it."
"Very good, ma'am." He bowed as they walked by, Nathan, thankfully, having not said a word—that is, until they reached the main stairs.
"Well done, my lady."
She felt a blush of humiliation fill her cheeks. How she hated that he'd heard the exchange. "Thank you, Mr. Trevain. Your praise means the world to me."
If he noticed her sarcasm, he didn't comment upon it. Nor did he make his own sarcastic comments abo
ut her lack of marriage proposals. Instead he asked, "Where are we going?"
They turned left when they reached the first landing, a servants' staircase directly ahead.
"To the attic."
"The attic?" he repeated, sounding surprised.
"Yes. 'Tis there that the safe is hidden."
It was a long climb, entailing a trek through the family quarters—deserted—up to her childhood playrooms. And as they climbed higher, Ariel's mood lifted. Home. She was home. No matter that she'd been kidnapped. No matter that her clothes hung in tatters. Soon Mr. Trevain would release her, if he kept his word. All she need do was find the information he sought.
She refused to think about what would happen if they didn't.
"Here we are," she said at last, relieved. "The stairs are narrow. Watch your step."
She opened the door to the attic. It was dark. Her nostrils filled. Warm, stale air heated her lungs. Attic smell. Old clothing and musty house.
She lit an oil lamp kept in a recessed alcove. The brimstone match snicked to life, the small flame turning into a big one as the wick caught fire. Bright yellow light illuminated a narrow flight of stairs.
"You will note, sir, that our steps do not crumble beneath one's feet." She tested one for good measure.
He ignored her jibe, more's the pity. She'd actually beginning to enjoy herself. Lifting her skirts, the lantern in her left hand, she climbed, watching the steps carefully. When she was a child, she'd once used them as a makeshift hill. An old sled had proved to be remarkable fun. She'd climbed aboard it, bumping down to the bottom at what seemed breakneck speed. Her governess had caught her, she recalled, and her adventure had ended. Still, she smiled at the memory and at the gouges her adventure had left behind. When she was gone, evidence of her existence would mark her passage.
"Gracious, but I do miss being home."
"As do I," he said.
She stiffened, supposing he did. How horrible to have to leave your home in the hope of finding your missing brother. Truly, she hadn't given it much thought. She'd decided to help him for her own selfish reasons, even though a part of her had rebelled at helping a man who'd intended to use her so badly. She supposed she should feel marginally better that she was also doing a good deed, but the hurt she still felt at his duplicity made that difficult.
The lantern spilled a circle of light around them. Piles of old clothes were clumped on the floor. She breathed a sigh of relief when she spied what she sought: a massive oak closet that Ariel surmised must have been quite troublesome to bring up the stairs. Placing the lantern down—the circle of light instantly shrinking—she headed toward the wall behind it. Two-by-four planks were grooved together to form the wall. Ariel placed her hand upon the boards. They were loose, although not so loose as to come apart—unless you knew how to move them correctly, which she did. Lifting the uppermost plank toward the ceiling, she then tilted out the one below it. Instantly, the plank came loose. She set it down, then removed another board, which revealed the top of a metal object. . .a safe, Nathan realized.
"I'll be damned."
"Most likely you will, but we're not here to discuss your spiritual problems."
If she'd looked back, she would have seen the scowl Nathan gave her, a scowl that slowly faded as she pulled apart the wall to reveal more and more of the safe. Never would he have found the thing on his own. Excitement made his palms sweat. Pray God the information he needed was inside.
"Do you know how to work the tumblers?"
"Of course," she answered, demonstrating. With a click and a snap the metal door opened. Documents were inside. Only documents. No precious gems. No jewelry. Just documents. Hope made his breath still. She pulled them out.
"Give them to me."
"No."
He felt his brows shoot up. "What did you say?"
"I said no. I want to go through them first. After all, there is no need for you to see things that do not involve your brother."
He felt a moment's disbelief that she would defy him, then narrowed his eyes. "Give me the documents, Ariel."
"No."
"Ariel," he warned her with his voice, taking a menacing step toward her.
She shot him a look that managed to convey her loathing and pique all at the same time. "Oh, very well. Here." She shoved the documents in his face.
He grabbed them from her. "Thank you," he muttered sarcastically.
She ignored him, settling herself down on a trunk. Nathan ignored her, his excitement building as he looked at the first document. A list of names for promotion submitted by one of the admiral's officers.
But a flip through the rest of the documents revealed nothing more than a financial accounting of the earl's holdings, some letters and a bag of gold.
He wanted to throw the objects to the floor.
"I can see by your face that you didn't find anything."
"No," he snapped.
She looked as disappointed as he felt. "Perhaps we should search his study."
They did, Nathan surprised Ariel actually helped him. He didn't know why she'd decided to assist him so completely, but he was grateful for her aid. Still, the search revealed nothing.
"Bloody hell," he snapped, turning away from her father's dresser.
"Nothing?" she asked in a small voice.
"Nothing," he repeated.
"Did you search our house in the city?"
"Thoroughly, except that one room." The room with nothing in it but wine. Bloody, bloody hell.
Wess, Wess, have I failed you?
Nathan didn't know, he only knew time was running out. With each passing day his brother's chances of survival decreased. He could be dead already, he told himself. The possibility was high.
He turned to the window. Night had begun to fall, the sun casting vibrant colors over the landscape. He wondered if Wess watched the same sunset. Or was he being held prisoner aboard a ship somewhere, left to rot until someone remembered his existence?
Damnation.
"Nathan, oh, my goodness, are you alright?"
Only then did he realize what he'd done. He'd smashed his fist into the wall. He looked at the knuckles of his right hand. Blood dripped from all five.
"Oh, my goodness," she repeated, "you're bleeding." She reached his side. Her hands lifted to his own. "Here," she instructed, leading him by the elbow, then shoving him down upon her father's bed. The fight had left him, so he let her do what she wanted. He didn't care that she was the enemy, that he would now be forced to take her hostage again. Nothing mattered but how the hell he was going to find out what had happened to Wess.
"Give me your hand."
Somewhere she'd found a cloth. She dabbed at his cuts with it. He winced but welcomed the pain. He deserved it. His payment for failure.
"Are you so very worried about him, then?"
She was on her knees before him, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders. There was no need to ask of whom she spoke. No need at all at this point.
"Every day I do not find him is a day that he could be put to death. . .if he isn't already dead."
If she looked worried about her fate, she didn't show it. "How can you be sure?" she asked.
"Because I've spoken to some of the men who've been released. As long as there was war, they would keep them alive. Now that the war is over, they will not care if he lives or dies. His usefulness is over. They don't have to feed him anymore. They will kill him."
She didn't say anything, merely stared up at him with sympathy shining from her eyes. He told himself he didn't want her sympathy, told himself he should push her away.
"Is it truly so bad?"
"Yes, Ariel," he sighed, wanting only to close his eyes. "British captains are brutal. The things I saw them do while fighting with the militia. . ."
She looked away, her voice husky when she said, "I know. I've heard the tales."
"Have you?"
She nodded. "Though I may not go out into society, my father r
eceives visitors. I've heard how they treat the men they've pressed into service. I am ashamed of my countrymen for that."
He stared down at her in mute surprise. That she felt sincere there could be no doubt. That she was upset by her oversight there could also be no doubt. He stared, realizing he might have been wrong about her.
"I am sorry, Nathan, I truly am. You might be a fiend and a blackguard, but you don't deserve this. Nobody deserves this."
She looked up at him. And for the first time he allowed himself to wonder if she could be different from other women. Here he had used her terribly, kidnapped her, and yet she still knelt before him, sorrow making her eyes glint with tears. Tears.
For him.
"Come here." The words seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. His mind, his body, his heart. Much to his surprise she obeyed, sitting beside him on the bed. He knew he should say something, knew he should do more than simply stare. Instead he used a finger to gently tilt up her chin, knowing what he was about to do was madness, pure and utter madness, but unable to resist doing so all the same. Perhaps it was the sudden loneliness he felt. Perhaps it was the understanding he saw in her eyes. He wanted to kiss her. The need was simple and irresistible.
He bent his head, saw recognition in her eyes of what he was about to do. Saw acceptance, perhaps even a touch of anticipation. And then his lips brushed hers. Kissing her was a cross between heaven and hell. Thoughts of why he shouldn't allow this to happen filtered into his mind, but he ignored them all, wanting only to give in to the sensations touching her evoked.
Yet even so the sane part of him bade him to be cautious. He drew away from her. "Ariel, Ariel," he murmured, "you're the most confusing woman I've ever met, but for some reason, I want you."
"Do you?" she murmured back, her sweet, hot breath wafting across his lips. He could smell her, the scent so distinct, so alluring, he was hard pressed not to close his eyes and simply breathe her in.
Instead he kissed her again. Madness, he told himself again. Madness to want her. Madness to crave the taste of her, madness to move his lips toward the line of her jaw.
"So smooth," he murmured, kissing the tender side of her neck. "So soft." And when he allowed his hands to tangle in her hair, he moved his lips even lower. "So tempting."
Enchanted by Your Kisses Page 15
