“Lady Winifred! Are you there?” She recognized Lord Darkwell’s muffled voice. He sounded angry. “Let me in.”
Captain Mariner’s hand was on his sword hilt in anticipation of drawing it out. Perhaps he would have already slipped it out of its scabbard had he been alone, for there was an eager tension in his stance, and she realized the only reason he held back was because of her. She placed her hand on his shoulder to regain his attention and spoke softly. “He’ll break down the door unless I respond.”
“No. Keep quiet, Winnie. Your life depends on it.”
She didn’t like the sound of that. She heard a softer knock at the door a few moments later, or perhaps her heart was beating so hard that she could hardly make out other noises. “Winnie, dear. Let us in. Please. We know you’re in there.” This time it was Lady Darkwell’s voice. “Is the stranger you mentioned earlier in there with you? Answer us. We need to know he hasn’t done you harm.”
Her hand was still on Captain Mariner’s shoulder. He felt solid and comforting. Were her instincts completely wrong? She’d never liked Lady Darkwell or her husband. They’d always looked upon her with disdain.
“Those dogs you spoke of earlier. How do you know they aren’t his? He could be planning to carve you to bits and feed you to them. We know they’re real and shouldn’t have doubted you. They tried to attack Miss Allenby-Falk, too.”
“Oh, the poor woman!” she said in a frantic whisper. “She might be hurt.”
Captain Mariner covered her mouth with his hand and drew her firmly up against him. “If so, there’s nothing you can do about it now. Don’t listen to them, Winnie. They are not your friends.”
“You’re not either,” she said the moment he released her, which he did as soon as he’d issued another caution to keep silent. She took a step back, somewhat relieved that he wasn’t forcing her to remain in his grasp. Quite the opposite, his touch had been gentle and surprisingly protective, as though he did not wish to hurt her or alarm her.
“Please, Winnie. Let us in, just for a moment,” Lady Darkwell now pleaded, sounding on the verge of tears.
Winnie chewed on her lip, uncertain what to do. She understood Captain Mariner’s hesitation, but she’d known the Darkwells for most of her life. They weren’t the nicest people, but that didn’t make them villains either. She was about to relent and call out to them when she heard a low growl on the other side of the door.
“You fool! Keep those beasts quiet!” Lord Darkwell commanded, his voice a harsh whisper that she easily managed to overhear, for her senses were alive and thrumming, and his hushed words penetrated the walls of her mind as well as the walls of the manor.
Captain Mariner’s arm was around her now, his touch light but no longer tentative as she burrowed against his chest. She shivered, trying to make sense of what was happening. “Why would the Darkwells want to harm me?”
“I don’t know. I think you had better tell me more about your dreams and those Dark Fae. Something must have happened years ago that you don’t realize.”
“This is all too odd. Are you suggesting that I’m cursed by a vengeful faerie who is now seeking to kill me? Not even my godmothers would believe such nonsense.”
His grunt was mirthless. “I don’t actually believe in that superstitious nonsense either, but I do believe in greed, jealousy, and hatred. Has anything unusual happened to you before?”
She tightened her grip on his shoulders as the pounding on her door grew louder. “No, this is the first time. But why the Darkwells? It makes no sense. I’m no relation to them. Indeed, I’m of no consequence to them. There’s no reason for them to hurt me. And even if there were, why wait until now to act upon it?”
“Do you have an important birthday coming up? The truth now, Winnie. How old are you?”
“Ah,” she said with a mirthless chuckle. “Is all of this your diabolical scheme to learn my age?” Of course, she knew now that he was probably the only one she could trust and he had a purpose to his question. “I’ll turn twenty-one the day after tomorrow.”
“I see.” He nodded as though her answer was significant.
“I still don’t understand what any of it means.” They were standing in the parlor, his arms now wrapped protectively around her waist while she clung to his shoulders, and their voices at a whisper. It felt so intimate, and the feelings he stirred in her were almost as frightening as the pounding at her door.
Suddenly, the pounding stopped and all fell quiet. “Have they gone?”
Too quiet.
Captain Mariner left her side to open one of the shutters a crack and see what was going on outside. She followed him, although she could tell by his expression that he wanted her to remain safely away from the window.
She felt safe so long as she was close to him.
“Winnie must not have come home,” Lord Darkwell complained to his wife and let loose a string of curses. “Let’s leave. These stupid dogs have proved useless.”
She stood beside the captain as he studied them, and wriggled in front of him so they both could watch the Darkwells ride off in their elegant carriage.
“Merciful heavens!” She let out the breath she’d been holding and leaned against the wall for support the moment their carriage disappeared from view. “I’d be dead now if it weren’t for you.” To her frustration, she still didn’t know his real name. It didn’t seem important at the moment. She closed her eyes and silently thanked her godmothers for sending him to Kingsley Hall.
His expression was distant, yet thoughtful. “There was a third person lurking in the shadows, the one who obviously controls those dogs.”
She hadn’t noticed. “Are you certain? It could have been a trick of the moonlight.”
“It wasn’t.” He shook his head and gazed at her. “I’m more convinced than ever that you know something you don’t realize. We were speaking of inheritance.”
“Of which I have none.”
He ignored the comment. “Twenty-one is rather a young age for a woman to inherit, but it may be that you were merely required to survive to that age. Twenty-five is a more common age for actual distribution of wealth. Funds are often kept in trust until the beneficiary comes of age and is deemed capable of managing his or her own affairs. A woman’s portion usually remains in trust until she marries, I grant you. But it isn’t always so. Do you have brothers or sisters?”
“No. I wish I had.” She tried to keep the wistfulness out of her voice, but no doubt failed. “As far as I know, I’m an only child.”
He nodded. “It stands to reason that your parents left all their worldly possessions to you.”
She hated to think of cold legal affairs when losing her parents was of far greater importance. She would have given a king’s ransom to have them back even for an hour. She knew so little about them, which suddenly struck her as odd. Her godmothers chattered about everything else, so why not about her parents? “I’m quite sure the new baron inherited most, if not all, of the baronial wealth. Assuming any ever existed.”
Captain Mariner had a determined gleam in his eye, one that revealed he would not be dissuaded from this topic. “He would have received the entailed properties, of course. Your father would not have been able to pass them to you, but there is no such restriction on his other assets—”
“Of which there are none,” she repeated.
“Hear me out, Winnie. You say you’re a baron’s daughter. Orphaned as an infant. You were given over to your godmothers and not the new baron. Why not? It is only logical that he would have been appointed your guardian.”
“Perhaps he didn’t want me.” She tipped her head up and frowned at him. “Perhaps my father didn’t trust him.”
“Because he stood to gain your considerable wealth if you died before reaching your twenty-first birthday.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed. “If I do have wealth, it’s been very well hidden from me. And if said baron is out to harm me, then why was it the Darkwells poundin
g on my door and trying to lure me out? How are they involved?”
“Everyone needs funds. It didn’t take me long to notice that they value material possessions and their standing in the community above all else. They must spend lavishly to maintain appearances. I’m sure they also have a house in London.”
She nodded. “They do. How did you know?”
“It is where one goes to be seen by all the right people. Perhaps they met the baron there, struck up a conversation, and said baron bribed them to carry out the dirty deed for him.”
“No, it’s all too far-fetched. Forgive me… I… all this talk of faeries and my lost family… my head’s spinning.” She hadn’t felt right all day, not since those dog attacks and that bite of the wretched pie, but this was an unexpectedly acute pain. She tried to shake off her sudden weakness, but as she started to walk past him, her legs gave out. She stumbled and fell against him.
“Winnie, are you all right?” He lifted her into his arms and studied her with obvious concern.
“Yes, just clumsy. Well… I do feel a bit queasy.” The room began to spin, and a disturbing heaviness descended upon her, slithering around her like a snake to wrap itself around her body and squeeze the breath from her lungs with a blinding force. Blackness soon surrounded her. “More than a bit queasy, I fear.”
“Put your arms around me,” he said in a gentle command. “I’ll carry you up to bed.”
She didn’t protest. “Will you stay with me?”
He didn’t answer.
“Please. I feel safe with you.” Apparently, illness made her wanton, for what she truly wanted from him was too shocking ever to be considered, certainly too shocking ever to be acted upon.
She wanted him in bed with her.
Ardaric ached to hold Winnie in his arms for the rest of the night, but he hadn’t planned on it to happen like this. She was ill and huddled against his chest, her head resting against his shoulder as she continued to shiver. They were in her bedchamber, Winnie too unsteady on her feet to be anywhere other than in bed, which meant that he’d had to stretch out beside her because she was cold and aching and her meager blanket wasn’t nearly heavy enough to keep her warm.
Bloody hell. She’d be ruined if they were ever found out.
And ruined if he gave in to his baser desires and did more than simply hold her in his arms.
Despite his burning need, he made no seductive overtures. Instead, he held his breath and accommodated her in silent agony when she asked for his help in slipping out of her princess costume, for the sarcenet veils were sticking to her cold, damp skin and adding to her discomfort. “Very well. I’ll loosen the laces and then turn away.”
He tried not to think of her exquisite body or how badly he ached to explore it.
His hands shook as he attended to the task of undressing her—bloody hell again, because he felt as though it were the most natural thing for him to be doing. She seemed relieved that he was there to help her. “Winnie, can you stand on your own?”
He could see that she was still dizzy and dependent on him to steady her. “Apparently not,” she said, tipping forward the moment he released her.
He stifled a groan as he took her into his arms again and continued undressing her. He slid the material off her slender shoulders and once again groaned as the delicate fabric pooled like silky water at her feet.
He forced himself to think of anything but Winnie’s sweet body. There were more important matters to consider. The girl was ill and possibly poisoned, but how? It wasn’t the stew or honey drink he’d poured from his own sack, for he would have felt the effects of those as well.
“Winnie, where are your robe and nightgown?” He’d never imagined those words spilling from his lips, ever. When alone with a woman, his objective had always been to get her clothes off and keep them off her until he’d spent himself in carnal pleasure. The women with whom he’d dallied had been equally eager to fulfill their own sexual desires, hungering for his body and the pleasure he would bring to them.
Names did not matter.
Hopes and dreams were never discussed.
“No, not my nightclothes. Hand me one of my day gowns and a shawl.” She wavered a little when he released her, but managed to stand in her thin camisole with her arms wrapped around herself as though that meager posture could warm her shivering insides.
Whatever forces existed in the heavens, they were playing a cruel trick on him. He’d never wanted to bed a woman more urgently than he did now with Winnie, and he was never more certain that he would not act upon that desire. Odd thing, caring for a person. Made you worry about their comfort instead of yours. “Here’s a pretty blue gown. Let me help you put it on.”
“Thank you.” Her face was crimson and she couldn’t look him in the eye. All the better, for the tortured ache he was fighting to suppress no doubt showed in his eyes. His hands were still shaking as he fastened the buttons along her back.
He wasn’t used to this sort of battle, one in which no swords were drawn or blood was spilled, but it was just as dangerous as any battle he’d faced against Napoleon’s forces or earlier today against those vicious dogs.
His heart was in jeopardy. Bad time for it to happen.
He hadn’t even known the girl a day.
Ardaric stroked her hair, fascinated by the cascade of lush, ginger waves over her pale shoulders. “I won’t allow them to hurt you, Winnie.”
She smiled weakly. “Keep telling me that. I need to believe it.”
“I will. As often as you wish, because it’s true. How do you feel now?”
“Angry,” she replied, but he knew she was also nauseated for her complexion was green and she now clutched her stomach. “Give me one of those fire irons. I’d love to stick it right up Lord Darkwell’s… well, it wouldn’t be proper for me to tell you where I’d like to put it.”
He grinned. “Perhaps you’ll have the chance, but not until you’re stronger.” He still wasn’t certain whether it was poison or the mix of stew and fear that was giving her those violent stomach cramps. “Let me tuck you into bed, and then I’ll go downstairs to—”
“You won’t stay with me?”
His sigh was one of exasperation. “I had better not. You need to rest.” And I need to kiss you. He ran a hand across the nape of his neck. “I’ll look in on you again in a few minutes.”
“I’ll come downstairs with you.” Another crimsons blush shot into her cheeks. “I don’t want to be far from you.”
“Very well.” Ardaric carried her back downstairs and settled her on the sofa in the parlor, silently groaning as she curled up atop the faded fabric. He tried not to think of her curled up in his bed, naked between the elegant sheets. After making a quick inspection of the house, he returned to Winnie’s side and took her back into his arms as though it was the most natural place for her to be.
He held her for the rest of the night, loving the way she nestled against his shoulder and loving the soft feel of her fingers tickling his neck as she clung to him. Her body felt as though it belonged against his… as though it had been created just for him.
He also liked that she had a fighting spirit, even though she was a clumsy little thing and too soft-hearted to hurt anyone. “I think it’s that bite I took of Miss Allenby-Falk’s pie,” she said, tensing as a pang of pain shot through her. “It must have been rancid. Seems to be having a jolly good time frolicking inside my spleen and liver.”
He’d given her something earlier to calm her stomach, but it didn’t appear to be of much help yet.
She groaned. “I ought to have known better. Serves me right for biting into it.”
He gave her hand a light squeeze. “Stay strong a little longer, Winnie. It’s almost daylight.” Was it truly possible she’d been poisoned? But how? She’d only taken one small bite of her meat pie.
Could the Darkwells have tampered with it?
He didn’t think it possible. They had been nowhere near Miss Allenby-Falk’s pi
es all the while he’d been at the fair.
He ran his fingers gently through Winnie’s hair.
She cast him a grateful smile that tugged at his heart. He reminded himself that he’d only known the girl for a day. He had to be cautious. He was a duke, not some green schoolboy who believed in love at first sight. No, indeed. He was too wary ever to do something so foolish.as to fall in love with someone he’d known so short a time. He intended to leave once this mystery was solved. Another day? Two?
It wasn’t nearly long enough. He wanted more time with her.
He wanted… anything. Everything. So long as it was with her.
But he dared not risk it.
“Winnie,” he said in a whisper as she finally drifted off and fell asleep against his shoulder. He had nothing to say, just liked the sound of her name on his lips. And liked the feel of her even breaths soft against his throat.
He’d experienced the wretched depths of war and come home restless and unsure of his purpose. He hadn’t been a duke very long, having inherited the dukedom of Blantyre upon his father’s passing. Until now, he’d gone through the motions, dutifully attending to his responsibilities but feeling empty inside.
Thanks to Winnie, he was finding his purpose, regaining a sense of conviction and a passion for life he thought was lost forever. “I won’t abandon you, I promise,” he said and caressed her cheek. No, he wouldn’t abandon her until she was safe and then he could leave her behind in good conscience.
He’d thought she was asleep, but her eyes drifted open and she smiled up at him, a sweet, sleepy smile that shot straight to his heart. “I won’t hold you to that promise. But thank you for the offer. And I still intend to shove that fire iron up Lord Darkwell’s—”
Ardaric laughed. “You have fire in you, Winnie. I like that.”
“And you have valor in you, Captain Mariner.” She yawned and shifted slightly to stretch her limbs, the simple action sending his body temperature soaring to volcanic heights. “I’d dearly love to know your real name, though I won’t press you on the matter. I’m just glad you were chosen to be my savior. You’ve done a most commendable job.”
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