by Brooklyn Ann
“How dare you call my uncle a blackguard!” Vivian said waspishly.
Rhys hadn’t meant to say any such thing, however, he leapt on the explanation for his slip of the tongue. “And what would you call a man who would willfully toss an innocent woman and her two children out in the cold?”
Vivian huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are they paying less than what was agreed upon?”
“Yes,” he admitted with reluctance. “However, he is wealthy enough to not depend on my cousin’s payments, and he has all the time in the world to wait for her to give him the full balance.” And Vivian would faint if she knew just how much time her uncle had.
Renarde spoke again. “She shouldn’t have mortgaged her farm if she was unable to make the full payments.”
“Her wastrel husband took out the loan.” Rhys wondered why he bothered justifying himself to these women. “He died, leaving my sweet cousin nothing but a mountain of debt.”
Vivian made a sympathetic sound before forcing a stern expression. “I am sorry to hear of your cousin’s misfortunes, but what does this have to do with me and my companion?”
“I think I know,” Madame Renarde said before Rhys could answer. She fixed him with a level stare. “You’re holding Miss Stratford for ransom.”
Rhys nodded. “I am.”
“Ransom?” Vivian looked shocked, and yet somehow relieved. “Do you mean that if my uncle gives the deed back to your cousin’s farm, you’ll let me go?”
“In a manner of speaking. He will give me the money owed on the mortgage,” Rhys explained. “And my cousin can pay him and be held blameless in all this.”
Vivian nodded, whether in agreement with his strategy or simply comprehension of his reasoning, he could not tell. Then a line formed between her brows as she frowned. “But why did you take Madame Renarde as well? You could have left her with Jeffries and they could have returned together to my uncle’s home safely.”
Renarde made a disapproving sniff. “I would have refused. It is my duty to watch over you and ensure your safety.”
“Precisely.” Rhys favored Renarde with a respectful nod before turning back to Vivian. “As well as to vouch for your chastity when you are returned to Lord Thornton.” An ache formed in his heart at the words. He hadn’t expected to mourn the loss of the opportunity to make love to her as much as he was now.
He shook his head. What kind of a fool was he? Even if she hadn’t been the great-grand-niece of the Lord Vampire of Blackpool, there would have been no hope for a carnal relationship between them anyway. First because she was a mortal and he was a vampire, second, because she was of gentle birth while he was a criminal. And even if those things could be overcome, it was doubtful their paths would have crossed again, had he not needed to kidnap her for ransom.
“You fool,” Renarde hissed as if she’d been reading his thoughts. “Miss Stratford is already ruined. You’ve destroyed her reputation the moment you brought her here. My testimony of her purity will mean little to nothing as she’s already spent company in the presence of a criminal.”
In most circumstances, the companion would be right. “On the contrary, Madame,” Rhys said. “I know Lord Thornton better than you might think. He will have ways of keeping this situation secret. All of his peers will believe Miss Stratford went to visit other kin, or even returned to her father in London, if that is what he must say to convince them.” He glanced back at Vivian, directing his words to her as well. “However, I have the feeling he would care very much if someone of my ilk were to spoil his niece’s innocence.”
Vivian’s face flushed a deep crimson at the topic of her maidenhood. Rhys sympathized, yet one must be pragmatic in these sorts of circumstances.
Renarde nodded, yet her countenance was still rife with doubt. “And what makes you think His Lordship will believe my testimony?”
“He will believe you,” Rhys assured her. “Lord Thornton has ways of discerning truth from lies.”
“He does,” Vivian said softly, her cheeks still pink. “You sound as if you know him.”
“I’ve yet to make his acquaintance,” Rhys said cautiously. And he wished to keep it that way, as he wanted to keep his head on his shoulders. “However, I do know quite a lot about him.”
Madame Renarde waved an impatient hand. “Let us say you are correct in your assumption and Lord Thornton would indeed believe me if I told him that my charge remained untouched during her captivity. That would be most ideal. However, there is still a large problem.”
“And that is?” Rhys inquired.
“I do not believe you will be able to keep your hands off of Miss Stratford. I saw the way you kissed her after you robbed our carriage.”
Rhys drew back at the discomfiting reminder. He’d been so engrossed in that captivating kiss that he’d been completely oblivious to witnesses. He hadn’t lost his head over a maiden since his mortal days. A feeling of unease settled deep in his bones. Yes, he found Vivian to be breathtakingly beautiful and he admired her courage and spirit, but he hadn’t really factored those observations into his scheme.
He’d thought taking her companion would keep Vivian’s presence in his cave as proper as possible under the circumstances. But Rhys was a vampire, and if he wanted to keep Renarde out of the way to steal kisses, it would be as easy as plucking a rose from another’s garden.
Faced with that fact, Rhys had to ask himself, could he resist the temptation to touch his hostage?
He glanced at the object of his fascination and was scorched by her wrathful glare.
Well, that solved the issue. She loathed him now. And he would never touch a woman who did not desire his caress.
But if Vivian’s icy resolve thawed?
That would be a different matter entirely.
Chapter Eight
Vivian held her breath, waiting in unbearable anticipation, as the highwayman hesitated to answer Madame Renarde’s question.
Would he kiss her again? Or, heaven forbid, force himself on her? She remembered the hunger of his kiss the night they’d met. She’d matched him with equal fervor that shocked her to the core. She remembered the dark desires he’d awakened with his embrace.
At last, her captor met her eyes with an intensity that burned.
He shook his head in a firm negative. “I do not bring my attentions where they are not wanted.” He raised his head and regarded Madame Renarde with a wry smile. “Furthermore, although I’m a highwayman, I do have some semblance of honor.”
“Honor?” Vivian concealed her relief at his words with feigned scorn. “You drugged our carriage driver, stole the horses, and abducted us to extort money from my uncle! Forgive me if I do not take your vow to not assault me as proof that you’re a gentleman.” An inane thought flitted through her mind and she voiced it on impulse. “We haven’t even been introduced!”
The highwayman clapped his hand over his mouth and roared with laughter.
Vivian realized how absurd she’d sounded and nearly joined him in his chuckles. Fighting back giggles, she forced a level tone and attempted to bring back reason. “I’m glad I was able to amuse you,” she said drily, “but what I meant to say was... shouldn’t my companion and I have the right to know the name of our jailer?”
The highwayman regarded her with that rakish grin before he rose from his cot and bowed with a flourish. “Rhys, at your service.”
“Vivian Stratford, at your mercy,” she retorted drily, noting that he did not give his surname.
Rhys grinned. “Touché.”
She inclined her head and turned to her companion. “And this is Madame Renarde.”
He extended his hand to shake, then suddenly, he grabbed his arm and hissed in pain. Oh Lord, Vivian had forgotten that she’d shot him. After all, he was quite lively for a wounded man.
“Ladies, forgive me,” he said through gritted teeth. “I must attend to this ball in my arm before we continue this lovely chat.” With that, he opened the box he’d
placed on the cot earlier.
Vivian stared in horror at the array of torturous surgical instruments. He sounded so calm about the grisly matter. Rhys then took out a little brown bottle that she’d seen in many noble households. Laudanum. Was that what he’d drugged her and the others with?
Doubt immediately imbued her. She’d had laudanum before, when she’d sprained her knee from a tumble down the stairs. The substance had made her feel foggy, but it hadn’t made her fall asleep. And if he’d given her that same drug, surely she’d be muzzy-headed. Instead, Vivian felt more awake and alert than she’d been in her entire life.
Rhys took a large swig from the bottle, as if it were a dram of whiskey.
Tentative hope bloomed in her chest. If he were drugged, perhaps she and Madame Renarde could escape. She glanced up at her companion and saw that Madame Renarde had the same thought.
Rhys quashed their notion before they could even plan. Even worse, he did not slur from the drug. “Don’t entertain the thought of attempting to depart while I’m occupied. I’ve installed a door in the cave’s tunnel and it locks from the inside. Feel free to have a look.”
Heat flooded Vivian’s face. How could he read her so easily? All the same, she was curious at the concept of a door within a cave, but the idea of fruitlessly poking at the barrier to freedom under Rhys’s knowing smirk was beyond humiliating.
She slumped back against the cave wall, full of impotent anger. “Well, I hope your wound becomes infected and you grow too weak to prevent us from searching for the key!”
His eyes widened in shock at her malicious words. Then he regained his devil-may-care composure. “If my wound festers, that means I shall most likely die. And it would be your fault as you’re the one who shot me. Are you quite certain you can handle having my death on your conscience?”
Vivian’s shoulders sank. The answer was a resounding no. However, she refused to give him that satisfaction. “Oh, just dig out the ball and bandage your arm and we’ll let God decide what trials I can endure.”
His eyes blazed with something akin to admiration. “And so I shall.” The confidence in his voice should have sounded foolish, yet it did not. Rhys withdrew a pair of scissors and bent to his task.
Vivian watched with morbid fascination as Rhys first cut away his sleeve until the wound was revealed in all its gruesome glory. Dark brown flecks of blood were spattered along his muscular forearm. She cringed to see such beauty damaged.
The bullet hole was a red ruin, clotted and revolting. Yet Vivian continued to watch, even when he dug the pliers into his flesh, searching for the ball. She had done this to him. It seemed cowardly to look away.
Fresh blood spurted and ran down his arm, and Rhys had to pause to staunch it with the fabric of the sleeve he’d cut off. His cocksure smile had vanished, lines of pain creasing the skin around his copper eyes.
Reluctant pity swelled Vivian’s heart at his obvious suffering. An apology nearly crept from her throat, but she bit it back. This wouldn’t have happened if he had not kidnapped her.
For a moment, the sight became too much, and she looked back up at Madame Renarde, who also watched the operation with an alarming pallor to her countenance. Yet there was a look of familiarity in the companion’s blue eyes. As if she’d seen bullets pried out of people’s bodies before. From what Madame Renarde had told Vivian about her past, it was likely that she had.
Her curiosity high, Vivian turned back to watch Rhys. He still hadn’t freed the bullet, and fresh blood oozed all over his arm. He groaned in agony as he wiggled the pliers from another angle. She could no longer cling to her belief that she’d been right to shoot him. Her heart ached with guilt and sympathy at his pain.
I’m sorry, she wanted to say, but the words lodged in the lump in her throat.
Finally, hissing through his teeth, Rhys pulled out a bloody lead ball and dropped it into a small metal tray with a clang. After he cleaned the wound with a cloth dipped in water from the basin, she thought he’d bandage his arm next, but instead, he took another pull on the bottle of laudanum and set the pliers aside, only to take a pair of tweezers from the box.
As he dug into the wound again, Vivian must have made some sort of noise, for Rhys paused and looked up at her. “If you are feeling squeamish, you should turn away. I do not want you casting up your accounts on my floor.”
She shook her head. “I am not so delicate.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are you admiring your handiwork then?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I only...”
“Want to see that I come through all right?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Are you concerned for my fate now?”
Yes. She changed the subject. “Why are you still prodding your wound?”
He frowned at her evasion. “I am removing bits of fabric before my skin heals over them.”
She nodded in understanding. “That sounds practical.” Though surely that hole wasn’t going to mend overnight. Then she looked closer and blinked. For some reason, it appeared smaller. But that couldn’t be. Surely her worry had only made the wound look worse than it truly was.
Rhys picked at the hole more, depositing bits of wool in the tray that held the bullet. At last, he cleaned his wound one more time before wrapping the bandage around his arm. A measure of tension eased between Vivian’s shoulders. She hadn’t known she’d been so concerned.
Her fists clenched in her lap. She should be more concerned with escaping. Her teeth clenched in mute frustration as she observed that, despite having consumed enough laudanum to put down a horse, Rhys appeared to be perfectly alert, albeit quite pale.
He cleaned up his surgical instruments and changed into a fresh shirt from a trunk in the corner of the cave. Vivian bit back a gasp at the glimpses of his bare back and chest, and the planes of muscles kissed by the light of the lanterns. The view made her stomach flutter in the most alarming manner.
“Are you ladies hungry?” he asked in a courteous tone, as if he were their host and not their jailer.
Vivian wanted to refuse food on principle, but Madame Renarde spoke up. “Victuals would be most welcome, as you so rudely deprived us of the meal we would have received at the ball.”
Rhys nodded. “I am sorry about that.” He delved deeper into the cave and she heard a cabinet door opening. It was so dark back there. She wondered how he could see.
He emerged with a basket of scones and two plates. “I also have bread, cheese, and eggs. And I can put the kettle on for tea, unless you prefer wine.”
Vivian accepted her plate with a nod of thanks. “Cheese would be quite nice.”
“And wine,” Madame Renarde added. “The whole decanter.”
Rhys and Vivian laughed at the same time. The mingled sound made heat flush to her face. She broke off her laughter and took a scone from the basket.
After Rhys brought out the cheese and wine, he started a fire in a cunning hole carved into the cave floor and topped by an iron grate. As the heat from the first flickers of flame reached her, Vivian realized how chilly the cave was. Strange, she hadn’t noticed until now.
She also hadn’t noticed that she was ravenous until she’d devoured her scone and reached for a second one. Guiltily, she glanced up at Madame Renarde to see if her companion had observed her unladylike bites.
But Madame Renarde was occupied with pouring a second glass of wine.
She turned her attention back to Rhys. “Are you not going to eat?”
He shook his head. “I dined earlier.” Once he had the fire going, he sat back on the cot opposite hers. “Tomorrow, I’ll secure a hot meal for you. And if I can acquire some ice, I can better stock the larder.”
“Thank you,” she said, with her ingrained manners.
Madame Renarde eschewed any pleasantries. “It is good that you wish to keep us well fed, but don’t expect that to ingratiate us to you.”
Rhys inclined his head respectfully. “Madame, I had no such lofty expectations. I wish for
this ordeal to go as smoothly as possible.”
“How can you call it an ordeal?” Vivian shot him a glare. “We’re the ones being held prisoner.”
He sighed. “Yes, and as the one holding you, I now have two women to look after and contend with until Lord Thornton gives me the money.”
A tremor ran through her limbs at his talk of holding her. Vivian shrugged off the distracting sensation. “And how long do you think that will take?”
“Hopefully no longer than a night or two,” Rhys said. “In the meantime, I will try to make things as comfortable for the both of you as possible.”
Despite herself, Vivian was touched by his attention to their comfort. Madame Renarde also appeared to soften towards him.
Her companion poured Vivian a second glass of wine and then a third for herself. She leaned forward and tilted her head to the side as she studied Rhys. “On our first encounter, you called me an old man. Now you address me as Madame. What brought about the change in manners?”
“At first I thought you were a Molly, or enacting a deception to take advantage of your charge. I apologize for that swift judgement.” Rhys sounded genuinely contrite. “After observing you and your interactions with Miss Stratford, I realize you are like other individuals I met, who feel as if they were born in the wrong form. I can’t claim to understand such a thing, but if you wish to live as a female, I have no qualms with addressing you as such.”
Both Vivian and Madame Renarde gaped at him in astonishment. People like Madame Renarde were generally regarded with amusement, scorn, and virulent loathing. Vivian had heard from Madame Renarde that sometimes if one’s secret was discovered they were brutally beaten to death at worst, and publicly humiliated and driven out of town at best.
Vivian couldn’t imagine facing such prejudice, though she knew very well how one was regarded when they did not conform to their expected role in society.
